Around the world, SF, April 2007

24th April, 2007 - San Francisco – a brief stop over

On Tuesday I spent most of my time with the trip from NYC to San Francisco (SF) My transport by shuttle bus was organised for 12.30 to get me to La Guardia airport. The driver was one of those professional drivers who know exactly how to avoid all or most bottle necks in such a big city. Sometimes the problem, though, is that they spend half an hour driving around backstreets and strange lane ways only to find that had they chosen the shortest way to the destination, they would probably have made it in half the time, albeit with a lot of stop and go. This one took more than ½ hour to get from Madison/47th to Madison /42nd - which is five blocks – by driving around half of Manhattan. Well at least we did not pay by distance.

My flight to SF via Minneapolis was scheduled to leave at 15.15 and arrival time was scheduled for 20.50 Somehow I have the distinct feeling that something in either my luggage, my passport or my personal exterior makes me a prime suspect for attacking airline security. That is at least in the USA.

Every time I check in for a domestic flight in the US I get singled out for a very thorough security checking. And whilst I don't object against all those procedures, I sometimes wonder, what it is, that marks me as such a high risk person. And since my 'hit rate' in this aspect of airport security has been 100% over the last four years, I can't believe that it is just random. Maybe having a few hundred stamps in your passport and some of those from what might be perceived as exotic countries such as Uganda or Dubai, has something to do with it.

The departure to Minneapolis, being delayed for about 1 hour, adds another hour to my already impressive waiting time statistics. But, as I said before, that's part and parcel of travelling around the world these days and you have to put up with it. Thank heavens for MP3 players!

I get on the plane fairly early as one of the first passengers. One might say it does not really matter whether you get on a plane late or early, your seat is your seat. And whilst that is correct, it does have an advantage and that is luggage space in the overhead locker. Despite what airlines try to tell us about the limits for everybody in terms of on board luggage, there are enough people around who manage to carry half of their material belongings around with them, stuffed in several oversized suitcases and plastic bags. And once they have filled up the overhead locker, your are stranded with your little mini Oyster. And seeing that this flight was fairly well booked, there was an incentive to get on early.

Once you sit in your seat, luggage securely stowed away, you can observe the fellow travellers pouring into the plane. That is when you play the game 'who is it for me this time' that is the question, which of the travelling hopefuls will join you in your row of seats. And I don't make any secret out of the fact that I do have my preferences for those temporary companions.

Given my considerable size and weight I don't really have a lot of reasons to complain about big people. Though I must point out that even in the most modern planes, where the allocation of centimetres for each seat appears to be calculated based on the template of a human body hailing from the Sumatra pygmies, I still fit into those seats, albeit with not a lot of space to spare on either side of the armrests.

This being a domestic flight with destination in the inner west of the USA and this being the US, there were quite a few fellow passengers rolling down this aisle who, I was certain, would have considerable trouble fitting their oversized posteriors between those two dainty armrests. And when you sit there and play the game 'who is it for me this time' you take this factor into account.

And there were a few people where I was hoping that they would not become my neighbours for the next few hours. Well, sometimes you are lucky, sometimes you are not. Here they came, Dave and Tylor. Dave being the father of little Tylor. My rough estimate was that Dave would bring every standard bathroom scales to its knees with around 180 or so kg. The consolation was Tylor, his little son of about 8 years. He was well and truly petit. That meant that Dave had to lift the armrest towards Tylor's window seat in order to be able to plonk himself onto the middle seat, never to be removed until we landed in Minneapolis. He commented with a wry sense of self-depreciation that those bloody planes where not really made for him.

Well Minneapolis came and went and at about 21.45 that night we landed in SF. Given all this sitting and waiting around I was not in the mood for a shuttle bus, but took a taxi to my hotel, the Cartwright on Sutton Street, just up from Union Square. It's one of those hotels with the much beloved "Old World Charm" which refers to some undefined bygone era in Middle Europe.

Donald Rumsfeld must have stayed in one or two too many of these hotels in his home country when he coined the phrase of "old Europe" a couple of years back.

The main and predominant features of "Old World Charm" are poky little rooms, unpleasantly red-brown carpets, a somewhat aged and creaky interior and those really old fashioned light switches which make quite an audible click and clack when they are switched on/off. And like in many city hotels in America's larger cities, your view from the room is onto some other roofs, often flat ones, piping and aircondition ducts which gives the whole thing more an industrial rather then old world charm.

But those hotels do have a significant advantage, they tend to be relatively inexpensive. And what the heck, I am here for the better part of 36 hours, two nights so it does not really matter.

25th April, 2007 - shopping till dropping

For Wednesday I have planned to do a little bit of shopping. There are a couple of t-shirts on my list from a company/store by the name of "don't Panic". For a gay man visiting SF from anywhere in the world it is some kind of brotherly duty to pay Castro and Market Street in Castro at least a brief visit. It is a little bit the equivalent to the Kaaba in Mecca. You wouldn't visit Mecca without visiting the Kaaba. But here ends the comparison.

Castro has been for many years a very vibrant and lively suburb where the presence of the gay community was more than obvious in the houses, the shops, the bars and restaurants and market street has lots of similarities with Oxford street in Sydney, the – once upon a time – golden gay mile in my home city.

But both streets have, during the last few years, undergone a visible and, more important, atmospheric change which has taken away a lot of the flair and flamboyance which once dominated their character 24 hours a day. And in both cases – Oxford as also Market Street – the demise becomes most obvious by looking at the shops and restaurants. They look old, tired, down to heel, often a sorry shadow of their former glory.

It seems that many of the former patrons have moved out, moved on but left their flags behind. I do admit that gaining an impression of such an area on a Wednesday morning at about 10.00 probably represents a somewhat selective sampling of life on Market Street in Castro, but many shop facades and restaurant windows allow the conclusion that 10 hours later things would probably not be much different. And as far as my t-shirt shopping list is concerned, I have reason to panic since don't panic is not there anymore. Well I guess I have to see it this way, ever since it's demise my t-shirts at home, which I bought here in 1994 have gone up in value!

All I am left with are quite a few fond memories of this area which take me back into the eighties and nineties. But maybe some years down the track, this street might enjoy some sort of rejuvenation like Oxford Street in Sydney did in recent times.

I am heading back for the other Market Street in the inner city of SF and towards the start/finish of the cable car. I am taking a day pass for the cable car which allows me to jump on and off as desired and, sitting on the outside in the midday sun, enjoy the beginning of a ride towards Fisherman's Wharf.

A ride on the cable car is always fun and you marvel at the 'old world technology' which keeps this vehicle moving and, more importantly, stopping on its way from Powel Street via China town down to the other side of SF and Fisherman's Wharf. You pass Lombard street, this famously winding road down the hill with the hydrangeas in its planter boxes.

I have been to Fisherman's Wharf many times over the last 20 years and most times, when I was aiming for some lunch, I would go to Houlihan's, up on the first floor for a light meal a wine and a nice view. Well, it has turned into a Hooters now and you know what that means, don't you. Not for me thanks

After that minor disappointment I wandered down back towards the centre and set down at Castagnola's Restaurant. They have nice outside seating which allows me to light a pipe. However, after sitting there for half an hour as the only outside guest I must have turned from a guest to a no-guest, since nobody ever came to the table asking what I would like to have. After all it was 12.30 and well and truly lunch time.

I guess one has to try something new every now and then and since the Castagnola's guys did not show any inclination to do anything what so ever about service, I got up again and wandered further down the road to get to Boudin Sourdough Bakery & Café.

This is a café/restaurant with a bit of a twist. Apart from the restaurant and some quite nice outside seating which is reasonably protected with glass walls against the ever blowing wind from the water, they also have a bakery where they produce quite nice sourdough bread. And part of the bakery is behind a large shopwindow front where the tourists can watch how the bakers do their bread rolls and also some more imaginative dough figures like little crocodiles etc. They get regular applause from the people on the street when a specific bread arte fact is finished and ready to go into the oven.

This being a self service place, we don't have the problem of waiting for being asked. And they serve quite nice and yummy salads with seafood and thus provide a nice lunch break.

In the early afternoon I start my trip back to Powel street, using the cable car and hopping off every now and then for a walk around the hills of SF with their beautiful views of SF Bay, the Golden Gate Bridge and the rolling hills of the wine country on the other side of the bay. In the late afternoon I take a little nap and do some work since I do have a cheap and quite fast broadband connection in my hotel which allows me to communicate with the world and send some stuff off to Sydney which I have been working on over the last few days.

A few years back in October 2000 I did a trip together with Ingrid Hillebrand and Mum where we spent 5 days in SF. From that visit I remembered a nice restaurant on the water front just at the end of Market Street where we sat with a nice view of SF bay. So I started a walk down Market Street and looked for the establishment.

Getting to the waterfront I found that they had built a new kind of Jetty, actually quite nice with some lattice work and lovely old timber sleepers on the roadway. And it stretches a fair way into the bay as it serves as a berthing place for larger cruise ships. So I took a walk up the jetty to get to the end of it and thus have a very nice view across the bay and down south the coastline. At the top end of the jetty you are also far enough removed from the city to be able to have a view of the skyline of SF. Not that that would be an overly impressive view, not really, but a nice view anyway. There are some better skylines around in the world with water in front of them, such as HongKong, looking from the Mainland towards Victoria Island (sitting in the Regent hotel dining room for example) or the view from my Oasis Beach hotel in Dubai towards Jumairah.

But then it's off to Perry's fine dining on the waterfront. As so often in the USA, trying to get a table for one is a bit of a dilemma. As one person you are taking too much space for too little turnover. It's as simple as that. And that is not a new thing in America. I remember 25 years ago in NYC trying to book a table for myself for a little birthday dinner. No chance in hell, or at least not in NYC. Well, with a little bit of cheating I managed to get a reservation at the Marguarita on Madison Av.

Here at Perry's it was just a matter of sitting everybody out for a while whilst having a glass of wine or two at the bar, observing the bar tender. Must admit he did a great job with all his drinks and mixing and he was very busy indeed.

Eventually I made it to a table and had some light dinner with nice poached Salmon and some salad. Just the right fair for a mid evening dinner.