If You're Going to San Francisco...

For large parts of our four day stay in San Francisco Mike was an absent team member, stationed in a coffee shop with Wacom pen in hand, furiously sketching fictitious settings for a new game. Leaving Mike to it, Tom and Will struck out to explore the city. 

Our hostel has perched right on the dividing line between the bustling tourist magnet of Market Street (and Union Sq) and the tense and impoverished Tenderloin district. It became very obvious very quickly when you'd crossed the tangible dividing line into Tenderloin, as suddenly the streets were lined with people of all ages sitting in their makeshift cardboard homes or queuing up for a soup kitchen. The other popular activity in the area was wandering and mumbling, occasionally shouting.

Having successfully navigated these mean streets, we headed uptown, following the pattern of: steep ramp, rest on flat intersection, then attack the next ramp. This continued until we reached the top of the humped hill on which the city is built, giving us spectacular views down the narrow streets on each slope. Craving the sight of the sea, we were heading for Fisherman's Wharf - a collection of piers lined up along the City's northern shore. Allowing ourselves to be sucked into the stream of tourists, we drifted towards Pier 39 with its bright lights and seaside town attractions. On the way we stopped to sample our first clam chowder, a thick creamy clam soup, usually served in a hollowed out cob, but in this case a less romantic cardboard tub.

Stomachs full, we wandered into a vintage games arcade, innocuously tucked away next to a moored WWII submarine. There was something satisfyingly wholesome about these old simple games, and we spent hours and a lot of quarters immersing ourselves in this forgotten world. Heading onto the pier itself was like stepping into Disneyland. The shamelessly tacky shop fronts and restaurants were so well executed, that even a gang of New-Era cap wearing, Jay-Z-alikes were taken in, stopping a middle aged woman to take their group photo at the end of the pier! Once at the end of the pier, a panoramic view of the Pacific opened up, with the unmistakeable silhouette of Alcatraz the centrepiece.

As we took in the view, our other senses were assaulted by a disgusting odour and strange barking noises. We headed off in their vague direction until we came across the source: a colony of sea lions, piled on top of each-other enjoying the afternoon sun. Occasionally, one of the bulls would get restless and decide to move to another part of his floating platform, sending any females too close to the edge tumbling into the water. The smell was overpowering, and this time it wasn't just from Tom's shoes...we left.

Returning to the hostel to find a recouperating Mike, we headed out as a trio. Following a tip-off from one of Tom's old school-mates who used to live in San Francisco, we headed to the Mission district. It was our first chance to use one of the city's sleek 1950's streamlined trams, which took us a few blocks downtown to the hipster cool streets we were looking for. We found 'La Revolucion', crammed in between two neighbouring bars. We squeezed into the cramped steamy room and headed for the bar. We immediately felt naked without some kind of jazz-based headgear, as we surveyed the cast of cool cats occupying the cafe's tables. 3 porters later and we'd found ourselves a table right next to the hastily preparing band. We were treated to a night of achingly cool improvised wartime jazz, and teased into submission ($10 tip) by the unfairly sexy lead singer (she's the one). 

The next day followed the same theme with Mike disappearing early, and Tom and Will heading off to conquer San Francisco by bike. After a quick tram ride to the pier, we arrived at the bike rental shack. We were handed two trusty mountain bikes, and our thoughts drifted ahead to the adventures to come, as the rep went through the routes and ferry times. We snapped back to reality as the talk came to an end, and confidently pushed off into the unknown. An icy headwind coming off the sea had us both zipping up our jumpers and pulling the hoods tight around our faces, desperate to seal in every available bit of heat. 

Reassuring ourselves that we would warm up when we got going, we pedaled on past marinas and harbours until the Golden Gate bridge loomed above us. A brief stop to check out a surfer attempting the small point break off one of the bridge supports, then we rolled up onto the bridge. The sidewind and misty conditions made the crossing a bracing and tricky proposition, especially as were sharing the narrow path with lightning quick local club cyclists out on a weekend blast. As the mist cleared and the sun broke through, we buzzed down the smooth asphalt slope into the picturesque town of Saucalido. We refuelled on pesto pizza slices as we watched a local artist performing his incredible rock balancing skills. A quick visit to a tiny hidden away art gallery proved well worthwhile as we discovered what could well be 'the one' of the entire trip in the shape of the gallery's owner. Weak at the knees and slightly shell-shocked, we somehow managed to leave the gallery and get back on our steeds. 

The plan from here was to perform a huge loop of the bay, eventually ending in the town of Tiberon, where we would catch the ferry back and meet Mike at 7 for some food. We struck out down a purpose made bike trail, surrounded by the familiar procession of rented bikes on the same route. It was now a beautiful day and we zipped down the trail, soaking up the sun and admiring the bizarre amphibious houses. After a few impulsively taken turns,    our biking companions had completely vanished, and finding ourselves in another cul-de-sac we started to wish we'd been a bit more attentive in the briefing. Relying on a crudely drawn map, and the simple logic of keeping as close to the water as possible, we somehow battled through miles of housing estates and rejoined the official route. We slipped reassuringly back into the stream of rental bikers, and now confident we were back on track, stopped to asses how far we had to go. With time running out to make our rendezvous, and still a lot of ground to cover after our time-consuming detour, it was going to be tight. 

We stepped up the pace, blazing down the final beach boulevard stretch into Tiberon. After a panicked attempt to find the ferry, we finally located it and checked the times. The next ferry wouldn't arrive for over an hour and a half! Mike was going to be angry. With some time on our hands, we resisted the temptation to wait in the adjacent bar and instead started to explore the town. After a liesurely stroll down the quaint highstreet, we discovered an idyllic bay where luxury houses floated inches above the water on wooden platforms. Pelicans wheeled and dived onto their prey, a seal lay back and chilled in the distance, and staring down into the crystal clear water, a ripple of movement and a cloud of dust signalled the appearance of a huge bat ray! It had been worth the walk.

By the time we got back, the ferry had arrived and we crammed on with the hoards of cyclists to make the crossing back to the city. We braved the icy conditions on deck to retrace our route against a spectacular sunset. We got back to the hostel over two hours late and with a big day planned, retired for an early night. 

For our last day in San Francisco, we decided to experience Alcatraz. Fortunately Mike had finished his work, so we boarded the ferry as a threesome. Once again, the west coast weather wasn't living up to its billing, and we spent the crossing defiantly huddled on deck, trying to enjoy the view. Alcatraz looked cold and foreboding as we approached. We sat through a quick and entertaining briefing once on the island (which is technically a national park) then to our surprise were left to go and explore the island.

With Mike's fears of being herded around the tourist attraction like cattle dispelled, we headed in the opposite direction to the masses to explore the agave trail. It felt more like being on an island resort, surrounded by beautiful lush plant life in landscaped gardens. We soon reached the end of this small paradise though and were thrust back into the brutal environment of the shower room. Mike let out a moan of despair as we were ushered into a queue to start the audio tour. All misgivings were soon forgotten though as we were transported back in time via the brilliantly produced audio guide. The voices and stories of ex-inmates and guards walked us through the prison's chilling interior, leaving us almost feeling like we'd been there. On our way out, there was just enough time to flex the English accents as we browsed the gift shop, leading to a long chat with the beautiful Daphne (the one) and her mum (not the one).