A foggy morning
Many San Francisco mornings start with fog. It’s why the place is sometimes called Fog City. The fog wreaks havoc with my fine, curly hair which I take great pains to straighten every morning, but I don’t care. It’s moody and evocative and it fits in with the way I live in my head. I’ve done some of my best writing in the fog and also the only poetry I’ve ever had published was written on a foggy morning wandering around North Beach. On Sunday, this was the scene that greeted us as we began our day with a long walk on the Embarcadero. It didn’t matter, because walking the San Francisco Embarcadero is something we love to do.
I love the pattern and the fog.
That’s the Ferry Building, the one with the clocktower. We were eventually headed there, but first, a walk. The Embarcadero is a great walk in itself, linear and waterfront, with an interesting surrounding ‘hood.
The bow and arrow sculpture is a familiar sight to residents and frequent visitors like us. In fact, I’ve been crawling along The Embarcadero in traffic so thick and time-consuming I’ve gotten to know every bit of this sculpture.
I’m a sucker for a cute dog, especially one with a tennis ball in its mouth. I have no idea if the man is cute or not but the dog sure is.
And a shiny, immaculate red fire truck. I sent up a little prayer for my special friend of 30 years, Paul, a retired fireman who died last month, too young and too tragically. Paul, I think of you all the time and hope you have found peace. Your sweetness is making heaven a better place.
At the fire station, this sign made me stop for a moment and think about how hard it would be for a mother to give up her baby. And also about the need for a “safe surrender site.”
Unique sea sculptures along the way.
Some 30 years ago, all my tomorrows lay west. Yes, for me it really was the bay of destiny.
Wandering around the adjacent ‘hood, this beautiful corner site.
A little art deco pretty.
As we walked along the waterfront, I had to have a cup of coffee at Red’s Java House, the place Anthony Bourdain called “The antidote to Alice Waters.” Waiting in line, we caught sight of this little retro sign and no, we did not drop our pants. Would you?
And this. Why was a mugshot of “Tanya” posted in a tiny dive on The Embarcadero, framed and everything? It remains a mystery. If you know the answer, spill it! Patty is now a 61-year-old matron whom I saw last year at a party and will see again soon. Her hair is very blonde and her face appears much younger than 61. Much. Very much. Just saying.
After coffee, boys gotta find one. Fortunately, San Francisco provides. (They were just window shopping.) These are convenient, but they are on a timer and when it’s time to leave, you’d better hustle out or you’ll be sanitized by the auto-spray. Fair warning!
It was morning, but the Hi Dive was already open and taking customers. Its doors opened in the 1930s as a bar and restaurant called the Boondocks. Rumor has it this used to be where gay men cruised sailors back in the day. In 2004 new owners took over and renamed it. But it still looks old and the name could easily go back 100 years. Too early for us, though. A visit to the Hi Dive would have to wait.
Of course, we ended up at the Ferry Building, now home to restaurants and shops (mostly foodstuffs), all very high-end and expensive.
But no shortage of customers. Long lines, especially for Blue Bottle Coffee.
Nice sign, isn’t it?
The funghi are always a picture–so many varieties with names I’ve never heard of. Like Lion’s Mane.
All sorts of spirited drinks in a lovely display. Most of the shops displayed their beautifully packaged goods in such an attractive manner I wondered if the same consultant worked with them all.
Pretty little cookies.
Crazy about the logo and colors.
Whaddaya think? Would you have some?
Another appealing logo.
Ice cream deemed a “secret breakfast” sounds good to me!
This organic soft-serve was nothing to write home about, especially since home is home to the rich and luxurious Abbott’s custard. This one was even a bit gritty.
Bath products called Moksha were irresistible, especially in their pretty little packaging. In Hinduism, Moksha is the transcendent state reached when someone is released from the cycle of rebirth.
Back outside in the fog, we savored the transcendent state that walking San Francisco’s Embarcadero put us in and headed back to the car.