Days 15-17: San Francisco, Yosemite

Ed: Written Wed. June 10th. Sorry about the lack of pictures, we'll try to get some up when we get a reliable high-bandwidth Internet connection.

We’ve just driven through Death Valley, and are on our way to that uniquely American den of sin and villainy, Las Vegas. Let me step back though, and recount our recent adventures that have brought us here.

After hours on the picturesque, coast-hugging highway 1 (which constantly threatened to send us plummeting into the rocky shoals of the Pacific), we arrived at the outskirts of San Francisco. Famished from our journey, we pulled into the Mecca of the burger world: In-N-Out. We ate those delicious, delicious burgers with the greatest of relish. Every bite filled our mouths with the meaty, heart-warming feel of hamburger, the soft, sesame-studded warmth of the bun, the fresh, water crunch of lettuce, the sharp, crispy tang of pickles, the sour and thick taste of ketchup, all melding together in an altogether delightful culinary experience. Thus fortified, we crossed the Golden Gate Bridge, and journeyed into the city.

San Francisco is hilly. It belongs in its own special category of hilly. There were roads so steep that the sidewalk transitioned into a staircase and the climb got no easier. There were roads so steep you could only park perpendicular to the road, and we still wondered what would stop the cars from falling down like a line of dominos. We imagined it would be a little kid’s paradise if only there was snow and the freedom to slide down its hills. To these mind-bogglingly steep hills clung San Francisco’s famous streetcars, with their passengers clinging on trying to take in the sights without falling off.

As if to take advantage of the perspective offered by the hills, San Francisco’s architecture is spectacular. Every house was painted in bright colors, and many had these circular overhangs that extended over the sidewalk, as if defying the squareness imposed by the city grid. Every intersection offered a tantalizing glimpse of what lay beyond (because of the hills), often bringing the bridges or the downtown (with the Transamerica Pyramid) into view. To make the city more inviting, the sun cleared the frequent fogs when we were present, but sea breezes kept us pleasantly cool.

Refreshed after spending a night at the Mark Twain hotel (complete with his quotes on the windows in the stairwell), we began traipsing through the hills and streets of San Francisco on Sunday. We climbed up to Coit Tower, only to discover that it was closed, and then over to Ghirardelli Square, a charming little square dominated by the eponymous chocolate store (where they gave away an entire square of their delicious chocolate every time you walked in). We were saved from further walking by the arrival of our wonderful friend Tiffany, who joined us for the day showing us the finer sights. At first, we explored a street fair looking for food, but then we went over to the Golden Gate Park. Although we didn’t see the bridge (it’s on the other side of the city), we did tour its charming Japanese tea garden, where we climbed a frighteningly steep moon bridge. From there, we visited Haight-Ashbury, with its collection of counter-culture stores, and the Castro, San Francisco’s gay district where large rainbow flags flew and gay couples walked hand in hand. We capped off our day by having dinner in Chinatown, sinking our teeth into eggplant and Hunan beef, while numbing our tongues with sweet-and-sour soup.

On Monday morning, Ricardo and I took the ferry over to Alcatraz. Perhaps our expectations had been overblown with the thought that this was once where America’s most incorrigible prisoners were held, but the whole experience was much more of a tourist trap than we anticipated. The ferry dropped us off at the docks, where we watched a Discovery channel program on Alcatraz (every national park seems to have one of these), then we took the audio tour of the cellhouse block. What was striking was how small the entire facility was: no bigger than an average warehouse with four “blocks” of cells. There was an isolation wing, a library, and a weed-infested rec area, as well as a warden’s office and a control room for the guards. The tour tried to make things more interesting by following the story of daring attempted escapes, but the effect was spoiled because of the number of tourists milling about.

We drove down to Yosemite on Monday afternoon. Our fears of being jaded by seeing too many national parks were unfounded: the granite peaks and redwood forests awed us as if we had never seen mountains or trees before. On the way in, we saw our first (and most likely only) bears of the trip on the side of the road: a mother bear with two cubs trailing her, and a younger bear (whom the rangers informed us was two years old but looked much smaller because it’s mother had been hit by a car the year before). That said, Yosemite was packed cheek-to-jowl compared to the other national parks we had seen. The path leading up to Half Dome was packed with families with young children, young couples on their honeymoons, other college students on their post-college bacchanals, elderly couples enjoying their golden years, etc. The campgrounds were equally full. Though we had planned on spending two nights there, we did not manage to secure a campsite on either night, staying outside the park both times.

Having only one full day to spend at Yosemite, we saw no choice but to try to climb Half Dome. There’s this 16-mile trail that climbs nearly a mile vertically, which daunted us, but also goaded us on to try and climb it. Unfortunately, I only made it a third of the way up before a particularly steep staircase on the side of a waterfall told me that perhaps I should turn back. Andrew and Ricardo continued climbing, summiting in the early afternoon. They told harrowing tales of how at one point, the trail got so steep that they needed to hang onto a cable to keep going up.

We set off on the road to Las Vegas this morning, and if all goes well, we should get there in the afternoon. On the way, we decided to make a detour to Death Valley. Though the sun did beat down mercilessly on us, the temperature did not climb high enough to melt tires or shoes. There must have been plenty of breathtaking sights had we had time to stay; the valley is nestled among the Sierra Nevada with its scenic rocky, treeless peaks. Despite the name, the desolation is not quite complete there: away from the salt flats, small bushes clung to life, and a constant precession of cars and trucks rolled by on the road.