San Francisco and the Pacific Coast Highway – July 2007

San Francisco and the Pacific Coast Highway
From Yosemite, we headed west towards San Francisco. We passed hundreds of windmills by the highway, miles upon miles of stuck traffic trying to leave the city, and the city of Oakland, before negotiating the hilly streets of the Bay City. We arrived late Friday afternoon at Jeremy and Justin’s “Bus Stop House.” Jeremy and Justin were two cyclists we had met in the Sequoia National Forest who had told us to come stay at their “party house” when we arrived in San Francisco. Jeremy further convinced us with a handwritten note: “Come stay with us! We’ll show you around the city and feed you baked treats!”

When we arrived, however, we found that neither Justin nor Jeremy were there! (We already knew Justin would be out-of-town, but we were expecting to find Jeremy there.) We called him and he assured us he’d arrive later that night or the next morning, and Ben and Nif, meanwhile, had shown us to Justin’s empty bedroom, where we could stay for the duration of our time in the city.

I felt a bit like I was back in college. Ten people lived in ten bedrooms situated down a long corridor on two floors, and the regulars and even sub-letters were used to having visitors. The apartment was relatively quiet, but the upstairs neighbors banged loudly on the floors and walls every night, making Rachel wonder if they were playing basketball!

San Francisco was surprisingly cold in July. The fog could roll in (or out) on a moment’s notice, but the city sure was beautiful and charming. We walked and walked and walked, until I was sure my legs would fall off. We walked all around downtown, around Market Street and through Chinatown and North Beach, the Italian beatnik quarter turned yuppie. We hiked to the top of Alamo Park, where we watched the sun set on the Painted Sisters, the beautiful Victorian houses backed by the city lights and the S.F. Bay that were made famous in the “Full House” TV series. We visited the tourist-packed Fisherman’s Wharf and the Pier 39 with its sea lion colony. We walked across the Golden Gate Bridge. Rachel invited us on her Red Bus open bus tour of the city. She made it fun and interesting, and Stephane thought she would make a great TV host. And then we walked some more. Man, oh man, those hills!

The city of 750,000 has over forty hills, and many of them have a great vantage point over the city. At the top of one not far from Lombard Street, we stood on one corner and watched the cabbies and tourists go flying uphill and downhill. All the tourists had huge grins on their faces as they headed downhill. One or two even closed their eyes and screamed out loud. It was like a rollercoaster ride! We had fun just watching. Then there was Lombard Street, itself, which has at least ten switchbacks. There was non-stop, back-to-back traffic heading down its famous hill.

The city is pretty. Its architecture is colorful and diverse, and I loved the Victorian houses. Its stairway gardens and hills yield wonderful panoramic views, and the Bay, of course, is the perfect backdrop to it all. There is also a diversity of cultures and the city marches to the beat of its own drum. Life – or is it lifestyles? – are somehow different here. People dress differently, too, in a wacky and funky sort of way. They have a style all their own.

The one thing I didn’t like about San Francisco was the astounding number of homeless people. It shocked me. I had never seen so many homeless people anywhere (outside of India). Everywhere we turned, there was someone asking for a hand-out. It was especially prevalent in the downtown area. The public toilets and parks were used for shooting up. We saw some of them yelling and fighting and beating each other up. Some are them are mentally ill, and all are in need of help.

The locals say the situation came about in the 80s, when Reagan cut welfare assistance and cities in other states sent their homeless to S.F. on a bus with a one-way ticket because they knew the city’s liberal welfare system wouldn’t turn them away. Also, the homeless stay here because the weather is temperate enough year-round so that people don’t have to worry about freezing to death.

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Our two-week tour was quickly drawing to a close, and so we headed south from San Francisco on the 475-mile stretch of the Pacific Coast Highway that separated us from Los Angeles. We drove through Monterey and on to Carmel-by-the-Sea, a charming community that had picturesque homes, upscale shopping, expensive restaurants and galleries, and amazing coastal scenery. We checked out several of the hundred or so art galleries, hoping the morning fog would clear. It would be a shame to drive the P.C.H. if the coastline was invisible in the fog. We did get lucky, and it lifted just as we neared the Big Sur section of the coast.

Big Sur means “the big country to the south” in Spanish, and the 130-mile stretch of road that ran as far as San Luis Obispo was the Highway 1 of postcards, the Hwy. 1 of TV ads, the Hwy. 1 of the imagination. Reminiscent of Australia’s Great Ocean Road, the scenery was magnificent. Cliffs plunged into the deep blue sea and yellow wildflowers carpeted those same cliffs that jutted out along the rugged and wild coast. Big Sur was more an experience than one single, tangible place. It was not a town; it was a coastal area graced with spectacular views and many look-outs, beaches, forests, several state parks and hiking trails, coves with tidal pools, crashing waves, and California’s only coastal waterfall, which plunges straight into the sea from some 80 feet, as if from some TV ad. It is Mother Nature in all Her glory.

We drove past Santa Barbara and Ventura and eventually hit L.A.’s infamous traffic. Our two-week California car adventure drew to a close, but it has to be said that California has some of the most spectacular scenery on earth. From ocean to desert to clear blue lakes and rivers and waterfalls, from sand-colored hillsides to green meadows and forests of tall redwoods and grand Sequoias, California has it all.