The friendly pre-recorded voice on the Muni Metro M-Ocean View line said, "Next stop: Castro station." All the books I've read, all the movies and shows I've watched, came rushing in on me to produce the oddest, collective-consciousness kind of thought: "Oh. I'm home." Follow that with exiting the station into Harvey Milk Plaza, seeing rainbow stripes on the lampposts, the larger-than-life rainbow flag flying on the hillside, and a street so full of gay men (I'd gather roughly 90% of the people?) that even my rather faulty gaydar could tell where I was... That was quite an experience in itself.
(You Can Never) Get Away From It All
San Francisco International Airport is one of the primary hubs to get to my hometown. It was an odd experience, landing at SFO, and not being in a rush to catch another flight somewhere else.
Baggage claimed, taxi hailed, sailing out on the 101... and the first thing I see is a double-tall billboard promoting visitation of my employer's flagship California property. I closed my eyes and started rocking, mumbling, "make it stop!"
Turns out, it was even harder for Dan to avoid his employer. His company's flagship San Francisco location was a block from our hotel, opposite the Cable Car turnaround and Muni Metro station.
Humboldt's Finest
A Sunday-afternoon T-time outing to Lone Star Saloon was every bit as enjoyable as I'd hoped. The back "patio" was completely not what I'd pictured, though — felt smaller than Full Moon's Pool Corral, but by 5pm was so packed one could only shuffle through sideways to get from Point A to Point B — not that I'm complaining, it was all part of the fun.
What was odd was, shall we say, the aroma and variety of things being smoked on the patio. The bar interior, by law, is smoke-free. The patio, not so much. Aside from the barbeque grilling of hamburgers and hot dogs for sale, there were the traditional cigarettes, cigars... and some (shall we say) smaller cigarettes that, although apparently common, I don't think I've ever smelled before (I'm so sheltered), and a pipe or two I didn't even want to understand. I guess nothing says "welcome to Northern California" quite like the smell of hemp burning in the breeze...
Up Close and Personal
I grew up so close, and yet so far. We received San Francisco/Oakland area television stations on our hometown cable system. Landmarks like Coit Tower, the Golden Gate Bridge and the Transamerica Pyramid were on the screen every night. And yet, living almost a full day's drive away, we never really took a trip to see the City. We drove through once; I visited a few landmarks (including Alcatraz) on a high school trip. It was something else to stand at the foot of the Pyramid, to hang on as a Cable Car climbed to the sky, to ride a Metro car to the Pacific beach.
If The Bed Is A-Rocking...
I loved our little hotel, perfectly situated two blocks from Union Square, and on the same block as the Cable Car Turnaround and the Powell Street Muni/BART stations. They offered complimentary wine each evening and book readings in the lobby twice during our stay. Overall, a comfy place to stay, with only one incident. The first night, Dan managed to do an in-bed flip-over in his sleep that shook the bed almost exactly (in my drowsed state) like the one earthquake I experienced, back in Oregon. Given how I was already primed by all of the Great Quake Anniversary news coverage, I'm surprised I didn't scream. (Yeah, I'm a dork.)
The BART Winos
Monday, we rented a car and drove north out of the City — over the Bridge and to the Woods, so to speak. After a perfectly lovely morning at Muir Woods — one I could repeat over and over again — we had a longer-than-planned drive along the coast and up the Russian River, through Guerneville, Calistoga and Napa, before returning to the City via the Bay Bridge.
We reached Wine Country late enough we could only make it to a handful of wineries before they closed for the day. I made two purchases — a Shiraz Champagne from Korbel and a Gewürztraminer from Martinelli — and generally just enjoyed the scenery.
We returned the car to SFO, since the in-town rental offices all closed by 6. We hopped on the AirTrain (to get to the BART station), alongside all the people with all their luggage. We were each carrying... a wine bottle in a paper bag. Fast forward through standing on the BART platform… riding the BART Blue Line into the city, and exiting the station downtown, all while carrying nothing but a wine bottle, each. I'm sure it made for entertaining conversation for other people.
Sobering Moments
Lest you think the whole vacation was nothing but wine, ...um, men, and song: As with our trip to Chicago a couple of years back, we got to visit a number of the City's great museums. Having grown up in a smaller town, I am in awe of the culture available in a true metropolis. I grew up seeing the works of Rodin in books, not seeing a roomful — and an authentic casting of The Thinker — in person.
The most solemn moments, though, were a visit to the National AIDS Memorial Grove in Golden Gate Park, and to Grace Cathedral. The sense of still and quiet in that space made me want to stay for hours. The Cathedral also featured a sobering Interfaith AIDS Chapel near the doors. The altar was flanked by symbols from every faith imaginable — cross, star of David, crescent moon and star, and some I'm embarrassed to say I didn't recognize. There was a wall of votives, which one could light in memory of those we've lost, and, hanging near the rear of the chapel, a square from the Names Quilt; just off center of the square was a panel for someone who shared my last name.
Faces In The Crowd
Our final evening, we decided to swing back by the Castro one last time. We arrived about 6:30, amazed at the amount of activity in the bars — every last one was packed, some even with lines waiting to get in! After wandering for a while (and being amazed at the mix of people along the streets) we picked a club and headed in.
Over the next couple of hours, I managed to get hit on (twice), do a little dancing, and get a pleasant little buzz going... all before 9:30 on a Friday evening. Orlandoans: Name the last time you walked into a bar, club or lounge here at 8:30 on a Friday and found the place hopping.
On our way back to the Muni station, we spotted a (cute!) guy we'd seen Sunday at Lone Star. When we'd been in the City long enough to recognize the face of a stranger, we knew it was time to come home.
Nice trip.
ReplyDeleteI don't remember the last time I walked into a bar at 8:30, much less how packed it was.
I've only been there once, my last "official" days on active duty. I had some fun, but didn't spend enough time. I wanted to go "home".