I honestly don't how how this stuff happens to me sometimes. I had one task for the morning, to go to Chinatown and get some chicken for a weekend picnic from a shop which makes me salivate just thinking about it.
It is a simple journey, but often fraught, and involves one bus which is usually packed to the rafters regardless of the time of day. Today was no exception. I get on at the first stop so am normally guaranteed a seat at least. Today the bus-stop was so packed, I was lucky to get the second to last seat left on the back row, meaning that I was squashed in and unable to get out unless the whole row moved. Nice. Luckily, I know that everyone gets off at the same stop as I was getting off at so all would be well (I am a seasoned bus rider). In that close proximity, I made friends instantly.
One of my new bus friends was positively delighted by someone talking hands free on a mobile and laughed away when I explained to her what she was doing. She had previously thought she was insane. Now she had all the facts at her disposal, she decided that mobile-lady must be very rich. Did I mention how cute she was? She then launched into the whole subject of phones, and how she usually makes up excuses to get off the phone (let alone talk to people in public! On a bus!), saying things like she has water boiling (a (bizarre) trick learnt from her mother in law!) Her world seemed frankly lovely; deliciously naive and full of child-like wonder. I was privileged to have been shown a brief glimpse. As we neared our destination, she urged me not to go home after dark, to avoid the tunnel especially and gave me top tips on where to get the bus home and still be able to get on. Bless her heart.
I got what I had come for easily, and skipped out of the shop laden with chicken and with a spring in my step. There was a bus right there at the bus stop which was full but not too bad by the usual standards so feeling very smug indeed I jumped on it. I didn't even look to see which number it was as I thought all buses from there went the same way. I know better now. One minute I am passing Union Square and finally have a seat, then Whole Foods, so far so good; the next I am on the Freeway heading south at speed, hopelessly and ridiculously far away from anywhere I know.
The minute the next bus stop loomed I got off and casually crossed the road to get the bus back again, as if that was what I had intended all along, but this time planning where I would get off, and expecting a long walk ahead of me. 'Luckily' for me, the next bus that came along didn't go back on the freeway so I had no clue where I would end up. It is a beautifully sunny day today so I just sat back and enjoyed the ride; I had a map in my bag and I knew I would recognise something soon. Besides, I wouldn't go hungry.
Soon I recognised a street, jumped off and headed for the General Hospital, where I knew I could get a free shuttle the whole way home, walk avoided. It was better than I could ever have hoped for really. All in all, it was a nice ride, good to see a previously unexplored part of town, I shared a laugh with a genuinely lovely person, the whole trip only cost $1.50 (about £1) and most importantly, the chicken clearly enjoyed itself.
Showing posts with label China Town. Show all posts
Showing posts with label China Town. Show all posts
Friday, January 30, 2009
Monday, July 21, 2008
Challenge answered, part two: Saturday pm
We arrived at Coit Tower, a bit sweaty from the uphill hike. Coit Tower is an Art Deco style 210 foot high tower which sits on top of Telegraph Hill and affords incredible views of the city. It was built in the 30s by a wealthy crazy lady with a fixation for firemen (this may or may not be the whole story), and the inside walls are adorned with murals from 1935, painted as part of a city art competition. They look like they have been painted in poster paints or pencil and laboriously coloured in, which adds greatly to their charm. They are very much of their era (the 30s Depression, rise of Nazism in Europe etc) and depict hard graft and farming, and, interestingly, I thought they looked quite similar to Lenin and Stalinist Russian propaganda posters.
So, we paid $4.50 to take the lift to the penultimate floor. It is 21 flights of winding stairs, the very cheerful lift operator hold us and the stairs used to be open to use but most people struggled (and also they could make more money this way - he didn't say that though). It was crowded but the views we were rewarded with, with the wind whipping our hair made the tourists bearable. We took a slight detour on the way down to go down the Greenwich and Filbert steps, where green parrots and wealthy San Franciscans live. We could hear the parrots but didn't manage to see any, but we were too busy concentrating in the pain in our knees from the steepness of the steps. A quick scan of the map revealed the quick detour now meant a long walk to China town. We popped into the famous City Lights bookstore (famous for the Beat generation - before my time, I could research this but I can't be bothered) on the way. More importantly to me, it was a proper bookshop, full of reassuring dark wood, and nooks and crannies filled to the rafters with books, and chairs dotted around here and there for you to rest your weary feet, and inhale the stories. No rest for us intrepid explorers though, as it was onwards to the Fortune Cookie Factory.
Factory is a word which doesn't describe this place at all! It can be located down one of busy Chinatown's many alleyways, and is a tiny pokey shop, seemingly guarded by an old man sat outside ushering people in. It is the sort of place which would be crowded with 4 people in it, and they brook no tourist nonsense. There is a prominent sign declaring a photo will cost you 50c and no sooner had the giggling teens in front of us entered, they were abruptly asked whether they were going to buy anything. They made a hasty retreat. I grabbed a bag of cookies in which to buy more time ($4.50 for a bag as big as my head). The production line consisted of 2 women, one who was doing something in the background, and the other making cookies in front of your eyes, by pulling a circle of cookie off a hot place, putting a fortune inside and shaping it with a metal rod thingy. It is all done at speed as as soon as the cookie hardens, it can't be shaped. There is a bucket of cookies that never were which are given out as free samples. Yum yum.
The number 30 bus took us away from Chinatown and to the Yerba Beuna Gardens, but we really stuck gold with the bus driver. He was a real old charmer, with a wonderful chatty demeanor that made the bus ride a pleasure, but woe betide the girls who got on and forgot to say thank you to him for their tickets. He was off with a rant on there being no excuse for not being polite, which he then skillfully, without drawing breath, turned into a debate on equality, urging the bus riders to join in; a man whose soapbox I would happily join any day.
A quick film at the cinema (Hell Boy 2 - the film was OK, but what I really enjoyed was being able to sit down, on. a. chair; heaven), then home for a glass of wine and a bowl of perfectly ripe mango.
Total spent: $45 [£22.50)
So, we paid $4.50 to take the lift to the penultimate floor. It is 21 flights of winding stairs, the very cheerful lift operator hold us and the stairs used to be open to use but most people struggled (and also they could make more money this way - he didn't say that though). It was crowded but the views we were rewarded with, with the wind whipping our hair made the tourists bearable. We took a slight detour on the way down to go down the Greenwich and Filbert steps, where green parrots and wealthy San Franciscans live. We could hear the parrots but didn't manage to see any, but we were too busy concentrating in the pain in our knees from the steepness of the steps. A quick scan of the map revealed the quick detour now meant a long walk to China town. We popped into the famous City Lights bookstore (famous for the Beat generation - before my time, I could research this but I can't be bothered) on the way. More importantly to me, it was a proper bookshop, full of reassuring dark wood, and nooks and crannies filled to the rafters with books, and chairs dotted around here and there for you to rest your weary feet, and inhale the stories. No rest for us intrepid explorers though, as it was onwards to the Fortune Cookie Factory.
Factory is a word which doesn't describe this place at all! It can be located down one of busy Chinatown's many alleyways, and is a tiny pokey shop, seemingly guarded by an old man sat outside ushering people in. It is the sort of place which would be crowded with 4 people in it, and they brook no tourist nonsense. There is a prominent sign declaring a photo will cost you 50c and no sooner had the giggling teens in front of us entered, they were abruptly asked whether they were going to buy anything. They made a hasty retreat. I grabbed a bag of cookies in which to buy more time ($4.50 for a bag as big as my head). The production line consisted of 2 women, one who was doing something in the background, and the other making cookies in front of your eyes, by pulling a circle of cookie off a hot place, putting a fortune inside and shaping it with a metal rod thingy. It is all done at speed as as soon as the cookie hardens, it can't be shaped. There is a bucket of cookies that never were which are given out as free samples. Yum yum.
The number 30 bus took us away from Chinatown and to the Yerba Beuna Gardens, but we really stuck gold with the bus driver. He was a real old charmer, with a wonderful chatty demeanor that made the bus ride a pleasure, but woe betide the girls who got on and forgot to say thank you to him for their tickets. He was off with a rant on there being no excuse for not being polite, which he then skillfully, without drawing breath, turned into a debate on equality, urging the bus riders to join in; a man whose soapbox I would happily join any day.
A quick film at the cinema (Hell Boy 2 - the film was OK, but what I really enjoyed was being able to sit down, on. a. chair; heaven), then home for a glass of wine and a bowl of perfectly ripe mango.
Total spent: $45 [£22.50)
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