One of the great advantages of staying right next to Chinatown is that you’re never more than a few steps away from something good to eat. This morning was no exception. Jane nipped around the corner to Posh Bagel and returned carrying what can only be described as breakfast perfection.
Bring On The Bagels
These were proper bagels — warm, soft, freshly baked, and still slightly steamy in the middle. The kind that feel alive in your hands. Absolutely nothing like the sad, rubbery specimens you sometimes find in 7-Eleven, which have the texture of a 1980s hardback novel and roughly the same shelf life.
A freshly baked sausage-and-egg bagel, though? That’s a different story. Hard to beat. Even at six dollars each — which felt a little steep at first — the moment we took the first bite, any concerns about the price vanished. Warm, salty, satisfying, and exactly what you want to start a day of exploring. By the time we’d finished, we were both thoroughly stuffed and ready to face whatever San Francisco decided to throw at us next.
Jane would probably have brought back a coffee too, but there’s only so much one person can carry while using crutches. Something had to give, and fortunately the hotel room coffee was available as backup.
Now, I’m not a coffee snob — far from it. Cheap and strong suits me perfectly well. I don’t need artisan beans hand-roasted by monks on a remote mountainside, or a barista who talks about “flavour notes” like they’re reading poetry. Just make it hot, caffeinated, and plentiful.
The only thing I draw the line at is decaf. If I’m drinking coffee, I want the coffee to know it’s coffee.
We Can Fix It?
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| Not The Easiest Juntion To Cross |
We headed out just after nine with a clear mission: the wheelchair needed fixing, and nothing else on the day’s agenda could happen until that was sorted. After a bit of late-night Googling the evening before, I’d found a mobility-equipment shop over in SoMa, on the corner of Otis and Van Ness Avenue. The listing suggested they sold wheelchairs, but whether they repaired them was left deliberately vague — the sort of ambiguity that makes you suspicious.
On that basis, we made the sensible decision to leave the wheelchair at the hotel. There’s nothing quite like pushing a broken wheelchair across San Francisco to make you question your life choices, so a reconnaissance mission on foot seemed the wiser option.
We took the Number 14 bus over to investigate.
The owner turned out to be exactly the sort of person you hope to find in a place like this: calm, knowledgeable, and reassuringly unfazed by the words “snapped wheel.” Axle widths vary, he explained, but that wasn’t necessarily a problem. Out the back he had a box full of wheels and salvaged parts from various deceased chairs, and he was fairly confident he could cobble together a replacement for around twenty dollars. If nothing matched, he also sold new wheels — and he’d knock a bit off the price if we left the old one behind as donor parts. A full replacement wheel would cost around $200, but honestly, it would have been money well spent. The alternative — Jane walking everywhere for the rest of the trip — was not something either of us wanted to contemplate.
With that sorted, we crossed the road to catch a Number 6 or 7 bus.
This sounds simple. It was not. The junction at Van Ness and Otis is one of the widest intersections I’ve ever encountered — less a crossing and more a personal challenge. Add to that the small but persistent problem of traffic coming from the “wrong” direction, and you have a recipe for chaos. No matter how many times you tell your brain to look left first, it stubbornly looks right, as if hoping the laws of physics will rearrange themselves out of politeness.
We made it to the traffic island, waited for the lights, made it the rest of the way, and I’m fairly sure the whole operation took about ten minutes. It felt exactly like a real-life game of Frogger, except the consequences of getting it wrong are considerably less fun than losing a pixelated frog.
Thankfully, we didn’t have to wait long for a bus. As luck would have it, one of the newer fleet pulled up — a small miracle in itself. The city has been quietly replacing its vehicles, and out of roughly a thousand buses, they’re about halfway through the overhaul. The difference is immediate. Every new bus has air conditioning, which in this heat is less of a luxury and more of a basic human right. Anyone who has ever sat on a sweltering British bus in July will understand just how revolutionary this feels.
And the investment doesn’t stop at buses. All 151 trams are being replaced, and a new subway tunnel is being bored under Chinatown. Add it all together and it’s an eye-watering amount of money — but that’s what a non-profit transit system backed by city tax can actually deliver. At nine percent added to your bill at the checkout, it’s hardly crippling. A small price to pay, arguably, for not boiling to death on the way to Hippie Town.
Ashbury & Haight, The Hippie Trail
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| Where The Summer Of Love Began |
By late morning, the day had turned into a scorcher, so we headed back to the bus stop and caught the Number 6 down to Haight-Ashbury — the legendary hippie heartland and the place where the Summer of Love burst into life fifty years earlier.
It was before my time, but the whole era still fascinates me. The 1960s and 70s must have been something else entirely. I love all the technology we have today, but culturally there seems to have been a different pace to life back then. Having grown up through the 70s and 80s, I can't help feeling some things were simpler.
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| One Of Many Murals |
Haight-Ashbury found itself at the centre of a social revolution in 1967. Young people from across America began arriving in San Francisco, many drawn by opposition to the Vietnam War and a desire to reject traditional social norms. What started as a small movement soon grew into something much larger. By the summer, tens of thousands had gathered in and around Golden Gate Park, creating what became known as the Summer of Love.
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| More Art |
The same year also saw the famous Monterey Pop Festival, a three-day celebration of music featuring artists such as Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, The Who, Otis Redding, Simon & Garfunkel, and The Mamas & the Papas. It's one of those moments in music history that must have been incredible to witness firsthand. Just imagining that line-up on a single weekend is enough to make me wish time travel had been invented.
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| Always Something To Look At |
Like many cultural movements, however, success brought its own problems. By the end of 1967, the district was struggling with overcrowding, rising crime, and increasing drug use. In October, local activists staged a mock funeral known as "The Death of the Hippie" to symbolise the end of the movement and protest against its commercialisation. The counterculture that had rejected the mainstream had, in many ways, become part of it.
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| Worlds Most Famous Legs |
Walking through Haight-Ashbury today, you still catch glimpses of that era.
There are wonderfully eccentric shops lining the street. One moment you're looking at the famous mannequin legs in fishnet stockings protruding from the wall of Piedmont Boutique; the next you're staring at a taxidermy raccoon holding a saw. Vintage clothing stores spill out onto the pavement, carrying the faint aroma of patchouli, incense, and several decades of accumulated nostalgia.
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| See What I Mean |
The further along the street you go, the stranger both the shops and the people seem to become. Eventually you reach the McDonald's at the far end, which appeared to have a semi-permanent homeless encampment outside. It was one of those places where the atmosphere could change from quirky to slightly uncomfortable in the space of a single block.
The neighbourhood is still famous for its colourful Victorian houses, many painted in vibrant shades, and of course the iconic Haight & Ashbury street sign that seems to feature in almost every visitor's photograph. Large murals of Jimi Hendrix and Jerry Garcia watch over the area, while long-established head shops sit alongside trendy cafés and expensive boutiques.
People still stop outside the former homes of the Grateful Dead and Janis Joplin, despite them being private residences. There is something fascinating about standing outside places connected to people who helped shape an era, even if all you're really looking at is somebody else's front door.
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| An Idea Of The area |
We ducked into McDonald's for a coffee and quickly realised this wasn't quite the laid-back bohemian paradise portrayed in the guidebooks. The security guard inside was openly carrying a firearm, which immediately caught my attention. What made it even stranger was watching him help unload stock while still armed. It wasn't the only business where we'd see that during our travels, but it was certainly something that took a bit of getting used to.
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| I like This Building |
Despite the rough edges, there is still something undeniably appealing about Haight-Ashbury.
The murals are fantastic, the history is fascinating, and the neighbourhood retains a character that feels uniquely San Francisco. Places like this offer a glimpse beyond the postcard attractions and provide a sense of what everyday life in the city might actually be like — assuming, of course, you can afford the rent.
Butterflies, Humidity, & A Moment of Calm
From Haight-Ashbury, we crossed the road into Whole Foods to grab a bottle of water — essential survival equipment by this point — before making our way into Golden Gate Park. The Conservatory of Flowers was only a short bus ride away and, even better, admission was free on the first Tuesday of the month.
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| To Hot To Handle |
We'd visited before and loved it, but this time there was an extra attraction: butterflies. Hundreds of them. That alone was more than enough reason to return.
The Conservatory itself is a stunning Victorian-era glasshouse and one of the oldest municipal wooden conservatories in the United States. Opened in 1879, it looks every bit the architectural treasure. Its white-painted wooden framework, elegant glass panels and grand central dome rise above the surrounding gardens like something transported from another age.
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| An Oasis Of Green |
Inside, it's like stepping through several different worlds in the space of a few minutes. One room recreates the humid conditions of the lowland tropics, another focuses on highland plants, while elsewhere you'll find aquatic displays, seasonal exhibitions and rare species from around the globe. It's easy to forget you're standing in the middle of a major city.
At night, the exterior is sometimes illuminated with colourful light displays. We've never seen it after dark, but I can imagine it looking spectacular, glowing among the trees of Golden Gate Park.
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| Nothing But Peace |
One of my favourite memories from the visit wasn't a particular plant or butterfly, but simply sitting with Jane on one of the benches inside. It was one of those quietly perfect moments that can't be planned. We weren't rushing to catch a bus, checking maps, or trying to fit in another attraction. We were simply sitting together, surrounded by lush greenery, enjoying the peace and warmth of the glasshouse.
For a few minutes, the outside world ceased to exist.
Simple, but perfect.
We only lasted about an hour, mind you.
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| One Of Many |
The humidity inside was relentless. Within minutes, clothes were sticking to skin like clingfilm and camera lenses were threatening to fog up. Being free on the day probably didn't help either, as the conservatory was noticeably busier than on our previous visit.
The butterflies were wonderful to watch. They drifted through the air like tiny pieces of living confetti, occasionally settling on flowers just long enough to make you think you had the perfect photograph lined up before immediately disappearing again. As photographic subjects, they were deeply uncooperative.
Jane's phone eventually gave up and started overheating, forcing her to switch it off before it transformed itself into an expensive piece of modern art.
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| The Water Made It More Humid |
The plants themselves were remarkable, with species gathered from all over the world spread throughout the different glasshouses. There were lily-filled ponds, towering tropical plants, delicate orchids and enough exotic foliage to make you forget the cool San Francisco air waiting outside.
Eventually, however, the heat won. Despite the humidity, the crowds and the increasingly damp feeling of our clothes, it was worth every minute.
Artful Views
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| The Observation Tower |
Now, full disclosure — art museums are not really our thing. We're not the sort of people who stand in front of a painting for twenty minutes stroking our chins and murmuring thoughtfully about brushwork. But needs must, and today the De Young Museum was free, which instantly promoted it from "Nah, give it a miss" to "Absolutely worth a look."
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I'm Not Sure If I can kneel
Down Anymore |
Besides, the real attraction wasn't the art at all — it was the observation tower, which promised panoramic views across Golden Gate Park and a good chunk of the city. Add in super-fast free Wi Fi and, honestly, we'd have walked twice the distance. As it was, it was only about half a mile away, which we covered in a leisurely forty minutes.
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| A Stunning View |
Once inside, the trick is to head straight to the right. This neatly bypasses the bit where they'd normally relieve you of your money — or, in today's case, make you feel mildly guilty for not dropping a donation into the box — and leads directly to the lift.
The tower is only around ten storeys high, roughly 120 feet, which doesn't sound especially dramatic until the lift doors open and suddenly you're staring out across mile after mile of clear blue sky with San Francisco spread out beneath you.
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| Bride Peek-A-Boo |
Because the weather was being unusually generous, the views were spectacular. You could see straight across Golden Gate Park to the California Academy of Sciences, out over the Sunset District, and even catch a few cheeky glimpses of the Golden Gate Bridge playing peek-a-boo between the trees.
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| A Downtown View |
It's one of those rare places where you simply stop for a while. No agenda. No rushing to the next attraction. Just leaning against the glass and watching the city go about its day beneath you. From up here, San Francisco somehow feels both enormous and surprisingly peaceful at the same time.
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| Art In The Park |
Eventually, though, gravity demands its turn and you find yourself back at ground level.
And that's when you're greeted by a twenty-foot-tall sculpture of a safety pin standing outside the museum.
Just standing there. As you do. San Francisco never really misses an opportunity to remind you that normality is entirely optional.
Beach & Burger Fail
We’d originally planned to head over to Strawberry Hill and Stow Lake next, but Jane’s leg was starting to complain — loudly — so we decided to give it a miss and call it a day at around 4 p.m. Besides, we’d already planned to head down to Ocean Beach for something to eat at TJ Café. That alone felt like a worthy end-of-day goal.
Getting there, however, required a small amount of tactical bus manoeuvring.
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| 5R Bendy Bus |
The bus from the park runs on a one-way system, and naturally the next one due was going in the wrong direction for where we needed to be. So we hopped on for just a couple of stops until it escaped the loop, then crossed the road and caught one going the other way. This saved us from walking any further than absolutely necessary — a small but important victory at this stage of the day.
Once off that bus, we transferred to the 5R, which whisked us down to Ocean Beach. Unfortunately, TJ Café doesn’t open on Tuesdays. A detail I should have checked earlier while I still had an internet connection, but never mind — travel is nothing if not a series of small improvisations.
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| Safeway Ocean Beach |
Luckily, a Safeway superstore sat right next door, so we wandered in and picked up a roast chicken to take back to the hotel. Not quite the beachside meal we’d envisioned, but perfectly acceptable after a long, hot day.
It was one of those moments where the absence of the wheelchair really made itself known. If we’d had it, we could have rolled out onto the Great Highway, taken in the Pacific Ocean properly, and soaked up the evening air. But there would be other chances — this was only day two, after all. Plenty more time for ocean breezes and long views.
The Sweet Smell Of Chicken
By this point we’d had quite enough of San Francisco for one day, so armed with a rotisserie chicken and assorted supplies, we made our way to the bus stop like a pair of extremely satisfied tourists. The buses terminate here, which means you can see them all lined up in a neat little row, parked and waiting… and waiting… and waiting some more. Quite what they were waiting for is anyone’s guess. One of them looked like it was having a long, existential think about whether it actually wanted to go anywhere at all.
Eventually — after what felt like a small eternity — the 5R reluctantly decided to do its job.
The 5R wouldn’t drop us right outside the hotel, but it would get us close enough, and better still, it’s a limited-stop service. In theory, that means faster. In practice, at this time of day, it meant we’d be doing it sardine-style, wedged in with the entire working population of San Francisco.
And if you’re going to be squished up against strangers on a packed rush-hour bus, there is absolutely nothing better to bring along than a freshly cooked rotisserie chicken.
It didn’t take long. Within minutes, the rich, golden, deeply unfair smell of roast chicken began its slow, triumphant parade through the bus, drifting past tired commuters who had, until that moment, been perfectly content with their evening. Suddenly they weren’t content. Suddenly they were starving. Heads turned. Nostrils flared. One woman gave us a look that was equal parts hunger and mild fury. We stared straight ahead and said nothing. What could we say? Sorry about your appetite. Lovely evening though.
We hopped off on Market Street, cut through a few side streets, and were back at the hotel by around six. The moment the door clicked shut, the chicken didn’t stand a chance. It was demolished with considerable enthusiasm and washed down with cold beer and — the only logical accompaniment — Flaming Hot Cheetos chasers.
I have no idea what they put in those things, but within minutes our fingers were glowing a frankly alarming shade of orange. Not a subtle orange either. A hazard-warning orange. The kind of orange that says: you have made questionable choices and your hands will now advertise that fact.
We hadn’t managed to tick off everything we’d planned for the day, but with any luck the wheelchair would be fixed by tomorrow. Fortunately, most of the days I’d planned deliberately overlap, just in case something cropped up and we had to drop something — which, as it turns out, was not a bad bit of forward thinking on my part.
After a couple of hours off my feet, I decided to head back out and grab some night photography.
A Quiet Walk Through A Seedy Past
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| Outside The Hotel Door |
There were a couple of other reasons — three, if I'm being honest — to head back out again after dinner.
First, I wanted to scout out just how steep the hills were on the roads leading up to the Cable Car Museum.
Second, there are some fantastic night-time photography opportunities around this part of the city without needing to walk too far.
And third... well, there's usually a bar hidden somewhere. You just have to be careful which ones you wander into.
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| Some Relics Still Remain |
This part of the city still has a few relics from its seedier past, including places like the Nob Hill Theatre, proudly displaying a sign that reads: "You can touch our junk!"
A slogan that really tells you everything you need to know.
I probably should have mentioned earlier that the area we were staying in was once synonymous with San Francisco's adult-entertainment scene during the 1970s and 80s. This was the sort of neighbourhood you used to see in gritty American crime dramas, where every other corner seemed to feature an adult bookstore, neon-lit cinema, or questionable-looking bar.
Most of that has long since disappeared, replaced by cafés, restaurants, boutiques and apartment blocks, but a few survivors remain. Oddly enough, I'd listened to a podcast about the Nob Hill Theatre shortly before this trip, featuring stories from a former employee. Let's just say that much of what went on inside — and in some of the surrounding establishments — wasn't for the faint hearted.
But that's San Francisco for you: a city that embraces reinvention while somehow never completely letting go of its past.
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| The Erie Stockton Tunnel |
My route took me through Union Square before heading into the Stockton Tunnel and climbing towards Grace Cathedral. At night, the cathedral's illuminated façade glows softly above Nob Hill, standing out against the darkness and giving the whole area an almost cinematic feel.
From there, I made my way around to the Cable Car Museum.
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| Grace Cathedral |
The only public transport that runs directly up the hill is the cable car itself, and the vehicles are simply too high for Jane to board safely. That meant finding an alternative route, preferably one that didn't involve attempting to push a wheelchair up something resembling the north face of the Eiger.
Fortunately, San Francisco often rewards a little persistence. By zig-zagging through different streets and approaching from the opposite side of the hill, it looked as though there was a workable route using a different bus service altogether.
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| Pyramid By Night |
That, however, was a challenge for another day.
With the scouting mission successfully completed and a few photographs safely stored on the camera, there was just enough time for a quick beer on the walk back to the hotel.
It would have been rude not to, wouldn't it?
Refections On The Day
Today was a reminder that travel rarely goes exactly to plan — and that's often when the best memories are made.
The day began with a practical problem: getting the wheelchair repaired. It wasn't the most exciting item on the itinerary, but it ended up being the most important. Seeing Jane able to get around comfortably again would be a huge weight from both of us and turned what could have been a frustrating few days into an opportunity to keep exploring.
San Francisco showed us several different sides of itself today. There was the colourful nostalgia of Haight-Ashbury, the peaceful calm of the Conservatory of Flowers, and the sweeping views from the De Young Museum that somehow made the city feel both enormous and intimate at the same time.
What I'll probably remember most, though, is a supermarket rotisserie chicken.
There's something wonderfully ridiculous about carrying one onto a packed rush-hour bus and watching the smell slowly work its way through a carriage full of hungry commuters. Travel memories are funny like that. We spend hours planning the famous landmarks, then end up laughing about a chicken.
By the end of the day we were tired, happy, and feeling far more optimistic than we had twenty-four hours earlier. The wheelchair should be working soon, we'd discovered a few new corners of the city, and San Francisco had once again reminded us that the unexpected moments are often the ones that stay with you the longest. Not a bad day at all.
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