We decided to take things a little easier today. After sharing a sausage-and-egg bagel back at the hotel — washed down with a coffee strong enough to wake the dead — we started thinking about heading out. We'd each had a whole bagel the other day, which was delicious but left us both wanting nothing more than to crawl back into bed and sleep for a week. Sharing felt like the wiser, more adult choice. A rare moment of restraint.
A Wheelie Good Day
With breakfast sorted, it was time to tackle the day's main objective: Operation Wheelchair Resurrection.
We walked around the corner and caught the Number 8 bus down to Market Street, then made our way one block along 5th Street to Howard Street, where we picked up the Number 14 to Otis Street, about two miles away. It's not the easiest place to reach from where we were staying, as you can probably tell from that highly detailed bus description. Quite how I remember all that, I have no idea, but it was our best shot at getting the wheelchair fixed.
What I hadn't realised on our first visit was that the shop had a full workshop hidden away at the back. The owner very kindly called the mechanic through to take a look. He seemed quietly optimistic. Most of this sort of equipment is manufactured in China, so many of the parts are surprisingly interchangeable. The axle size turned out to be different, but he had a spare wheel complete with its own axle rod, and the bolt hole lined up closely enough to make it work. Fifteen minutes later, and for the grand sum of twenty-eight dollars, we were back on the road.
Who needs matching wheels?
It might not sound like much, but it made an enormous difference for Jane. A wheelchair on flat ground saves a huge amount of effort and makes getting around so much easier. It's difficult watching someone you love struggle when something as ordinary as a cracked pavement, a steep kerb, or a badly designed crossing suddenly becomes a major obstacle. Having the chair working properly again felt like a weight had been lifted from both of us.
With the repair sorted, it was finally time to enjoy the sunshine. First, however, we had to escape the shop's location, which sits beside what must be the biggest road junction I've ever seen. Five lanes on each side. Three separate pedestrian islands. And absolutely no chance of crossing in one go unless you're training for the Olympics.
I'm fairly certain the junction at Market and Van Ness wasn't designed by traffic engineers at all, but by someone who spent far too much time playing Frogger in the 1980s and eventually thought,
"You know what? Let's make this real." You don't simply cross the road here — you embark on a multi-stage expedition. By the time you reach the first pedestrian island, you feel like you've earned a checkpoint save and perhaps a small snack. Then the lights start flashing red again as if the city itself is saying, "No, no, you've had enough freedom for one day."
The islands aren't really refuges either. They're more like support groups where complete strangers gather to silently question their life choices while surrounded by buses, taxis, cyclists, and at least one person on an electric scooter travelling at roughly the speed of sound. Crossing the junction becomes less of a walk and more of a cooperative survival exercise. Still, once you finally reach the other side, there is a genuine sense of achievement. Not many cities can turn "walking to the pavement opposite" into an action-movie sequence.
Fortunately, we didn't have to wait long for the next bus. The Number 14 soon appeared, one of San Francisco's articulated trolleybuses. I don't know if it's just me, but the buses always seem packed these days, regardless of the time. You expect it on routes serving the major tourist attractions, but this is more of a worker-and-local-shoppers route, and it was already busy despite it only being mid-morning. These new Flyer buses are sixty feet long. The articulated section alone feels almost as long as some of the buses back home in the UK. Yet somehow they're still full. Either San Francisco has more people than I realised, or everyone in the city had independently decided to catch exactly the same bus as us.
Waterfall In The City
We hopped off the Number 14 bus outside Target, which felt a bit like the old Woolworths back home — one of those giant everything-under-one-roof shops where you can buy a frying pan, a birthday card, a pair of socks, and a 70-inch television without breaking stride. I always enjoy wandering around places like this, especially the electronics section, admiring the enormous TVs, computers, drones, and — my favourite of all — cameras.
By this point, it was definitely time for a coffee. There was a small café just inside the entrance, or maybe in the lobby area — the exact location escapes me now. While we were there, we noticed an IMAX cinema perched on top of the building, which seemed like a rather unusual architectural choice. We would have happily watched something, but nothing on the schedule really grabbed us.
Just around the corner sits Yerba Buena Gardens, one of the most impressive green spaces in San Francisco.
What makes the gardens particularly remarkable is that they’re built on the roof of the Moscone North Convention Center — something you’d never guess while standing there. The space is divided into several distinct areas, each with its own character.
At the centre lies the Esplanade, a broad, beautifully maintained lawn perfect for picnics, sunbathing, or simply watching the world drift by. Colourful flower beds, public art installations, and quiet corners are scattered throughout, offering a peaceful escape from the city’s noise. Despite being surrounded by busy streets, the atmosphere feels calm, refined, and surprisingly serene.
The gardens are framed by some of San Francisco’s most important cultural institutions, including the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art and the Contemporary Jewish Museum, making the area a natural hub for the city’s arts scene.
One of the most striking features is the Martin Luther King Jr. Memorial and Fountain, officially titled Revelations. The centrepiece is a spectacular 50-foot-wide waterfall — a curtain of water so dramatic it pulls your attention instantly. One of its most unusual features is that you can walk behind it. Stepping into the shaded grotto, the city noise fades away, replaced by the constant roar of falling water. Etched onto glass panels behind the cascade are twelve quotations from Dr King’s speeches and writings, translated into multiple languages to reflect the diversity of San Francisco’s communities.
The combination of water, stone, and Dr King’s words creates something far more powerful than a simple monument. Inspired by his imagery of justice “rolling down like waters,” it becomes a place of reflection, remembrance, and quiet strength. Whether you’re a local worker escaping the office or a visitor exploring the city, it’s hard not to pause and take it in.
We spent about an hour wandering the gardens before heading off to catch a bus to Washington Square. This route is always a bit of a nightmare because the buses run straight through Chinatown, and today was even worse. A police incident had taken place at a Subway sandwich shop up the road — a stabbing that escalated into a shooting — and the whole area was cordoned off. Because the trolley buses rely on overhead wires, they had no way to divert, so a long line of them sat stuck with nowhere to go.
It’s moments like this that remind you how quickly life can turn on a dime in big cities.
When a bus finally arrived, I discovered that you can, in fact, fit far more people onto a bendy bus than physics would suggest. Even when the driver insisted it was full, people still tried to board, baffled as to why he wouldn’t let them wedge themselves into the remaining molecules of air.
Inside, it was absolute chaos. At one point, a Chinese woman in a wheelchair behind me was shouting for space — I think at me, though it was hard to tell in the crush and I don’t speak the langue but there was simply nowhere to go. When we eventually got off to let people out, the whole bus seemed to exhale like a living creature relieved to have a bit of breathing room again.
Chinatown is always lively, always loud, always intense — and today it was all of that multiplied by ten.
Go Ahead Punk, Make My Day
Make My Day Getting off the bus at Washington Square was a welcome relief, even though we’d only been travelling for about fifteen minutes. The square is one of those places where people-watching isn’t just an option — it’s practically compulsory. There’s always a fascinating mix drifting through: locals walking their dogs, tourists clutching guidebooks, street characters with stories written on their faces, and people simply soaking up the California sunshine.
Dominating the northern end of the square is the magnificent Saints Peter and Paul Church, its twin spires gleaming against the blue sky. Often called the “Italian Cathedral of the West,” it’s one of the most recognisable landmarks in North Beach. On a bright day, with palm trees swaying gently and the church rising proudly behind the park, it’s easy to see why so many people are drawn here.
Washington Square also has its place in movie history. Fans of Dirty Harry may recognise it from the film’s opening sequence, where the Scorpio Killer takes position on a rooftop overlooking the square. Standing there today, surrounded by families, joggers, and people enjoying lunch in the park, it’s hard to imagine the same peaceful spot once serving as the backdrop for such a tense, iconic scene.
What I love most about Washington Square is that it isn’t usually high on the standard tourist checklist — and that’s exactly its charm. People come here for the atmosphere rather than the attractions. The square sits at the heart of North Beach, San Francisco’s famous Little Italy, where the streets are lined with cafés, bakeries, bars, and restaurants. Of course, popularity comes at a price, and eating around here can make a noticeable dent in the holiday budget.
We spent a while sitting in the park, letting the sunshine do its thing and watching the world drift by, before heading across the road to Rogue Ales for a drink. This was exactly what I picture when I think of a traditional American bar. Unlike pubs back home — which often have a steady trickle of customers throughout the day — many bars in San Francisco seem surprisingly quiet in the afternoon. For visitors, that’s no bad thing, because happy hour often stretches generously into the day.
Inside, the bar had bare wooden floors and a wonderfully unpolished feel. Back home we’d probably call it a spit-and-sawdust pub — completely unpretentious and very much our kind of place. Behind the bar was an intimidating selection of beers from every corner of the city, the state, and the world. I wouldn’t describe myself as a beer connoisseur — or a connoisseur of much at all — and although the bartender did his best to explain the various styles and flavours, I lost track after about thirty seconds. In the end, I chose one simply because I liked the name and felt reasonably confident I’d still be able to walk after a couple of pints.
I’d actually planned to visit Rogue on our previous trip but never got around to it, despite walking past it several times. Looking at the endless rows of taps and bottles, it felt as though they stocked every beer on the planet, so it was definitely worth the wait. Being early afternoon, there were only a handful of customers inside — fairly typical for San Francisco. Unlike many pubs back home, especially outside city centres, a lot of bars here don’t even open until five o’clock. It makes for a very different pub culture, but it also means that when you do find yourself in one during the afternoon, it feels like you’ve stumbled into a quiet refuge hidden from the busy streets outside.
Secret City Views
After spending an hour or so in the bar, we hopped on the Number 39 from right outside for the short but very steep four-stop ride up to the top of Calhoun Terrace — one of San Francisco’s most exclusive and breathtaking little vantage points. It’s tucked away on the eastern slope of Telegraph Hill, the sort of place you’d never stumble across unless you were lost, nosy, or had spent far too long on Google Street View. In our case, it was the latter.
Calhoun Terrace gives you an intimate, layered view of the city’s relationship with the bay. You’re perched high above the waterfront, looking straight out over the Embarcadero. Directly below, the Cruise Terminal at Pier 27 sits like a toy model, with people and vehicles moving around it in miniature. Off to the right, the Bay Bridge stretches across the water toward Yerba Buena and Treasure Island, its western span gleaming in the afternoon light. On a clear day like today, you can see Oakland and Berkeley across the bay, framed by the soft hills of the East Bay.
Out on the water, ferries and cargo ships glide back and forth, giving you a real sense of the bay’s scale — a working harbour, a commuter route, and a postcard all at once.
Look slightly south and the whole mood shifts. The glass skyscrapers of the Financial District rise sharply from the flat waterfront like a futuristic city that sprouted overnight. It’s a striking contrast: old piers, busy roads, and then suddenly a wall of shimmering towers.
Unlike the 360-degree tourist frenzy at Coit Tower just up the hill, Calhoun Terrace is quiet and residential. The street is lined with beautiful Modernist buildings — white, ship-like apartments from the 1930s and 40s that look as though they’re about to set sail. Because it’s a dead-end street with almost no traffic, the only sounds was the distant squawking of the famous wild parrots of Telegraph Hill. They flit between the trees like feathery troublemakers, occasionally stopping to perform acts of botanical vandalism on people’s plants. I get the impression the locals are not their biggest fans.
I found the spot on Street View years ago and made a mental note to visit — and it was absolutely worth the steep final climb. You even get the added entertainment of watching the bus reverse back down the hill to turn around, which looks like a manoeuvre that should require a safety harness and a prayer.
We spent about forty minutes up there. With the bus running every twenty minutes, there was plenty of time to take photos and simply stand together, soaking up the view over the bay. It’s the end of the route, so it’s always a bit of a guessing game where the bus will actually stop — the loop around Coit Tower, the dead-end street, the T-junction turn — but that’s all part of the charm. A strange little route to a strange little street with one of the best views in the city.
Pyramid In The Park
Back down in Washington Square, we caught the Number 30 for a couple of stops before changing to the Number 12, which dropped us behind the Transamerica Pyramid. This is one of those rare places in a big city where you can sit, do absolutely nothing, and feel like you're doing it in exactly the right spot.
Completed in 1972 and designed by architect William Pereira, the Transamerica Pyramid wasn't exactly welcomed with open arms when it first appeared on the skyline. Many thought a futuristic white pyramid had no business rising above a city better known for Victorian houses and sensible square buildings. Yet over time it became one of San Francisco's defining landmarks. At 853 feet tall, it was the city's tallest building until the Salesforce Tower overtook it in 2018, a year after our visit. Even so, for many people it remains the San Francisco skyscraper.
Its distinctive shape wasn't chosen simply to look different. The tapered design allows more natural light to reach the streets below than a conventional tower would, while the two wings near the top serve practical purposes: one contains a lift shaft and the other houses a staircase and smoke tower. The exterior is clad in crushed quartz, which gives the building its bright white appearance and makes it almost glow on a sunny day. Impressive though the tower is, that wasn't really why we'd come here.
Nestled at its base is a small half-acre park that feels as though it belongs in an entirely different city. Opened shortly after the building was completed, it's one of those hidden places that many visitors walk straight past without ever realising it's there. Around fifty Coast Redwoods were transplanted here from the Santa Cruz Mountains in the early 1970s. They're nowhere near the size of the giants found in Muir Woods, but they've spent the last few decades quietly growing into a dense canopy that softens the sounds of the city. Traffic noise fades into the background and the Financial District suddenly feels a very long way away.
A small pond and fountain sit at the centre, surrounded by ferns and other woodland plants. Bronze frogs perch on the rocks around the water, adding a touch of whimsy that somehow fits perfectly. They're slightly odd, completely charming, and impossible not to photograph.
What I love about this place is the contrast.
Above you stands one of the most recognisable skyscrapers in America, all sharp angles, white concrete and corporate ambition. Yet down at ground level you're sitting beneath redwood trees listening to running water and birdsong. It shouldn't work. But somehow it does.
And the best part? You're never more than a few steps from a coffee shop. A perfect combination: caffeine and calm.
San Francisco has a surprising number of these privately owned public spaces — small parks maintained by building owners but open to everyone. This is easily one of the best. Whether you're eating lunch, escaping the crowds for a while, or simply watching the world go by, it's the sort of place that reminds you that some of the most memorable corners of a city aren't always the ones listed first in the guidebooks.
We’re Walking In The Air
The Embarcadero Center is essentially a city within a city — a four-block concrete kingdom planted right in the middle of San Francisco's Financial District. It's famous, depending on your point of view, for its Brutalist architecture. Which is a polite way of saying there's an awful lot of concrete. Imagine someone designing a futuristic city and then discovering, halfway through the project, that plants existed.
The complex consists of four towers — creatively named One, Two, Three and Four Embarcadero Center — rising above a sprawling network of shops, cafés, courtyards and elevated walkways. It's the sort of place where you arrive intending to cross from A to B and somehow end up at Q wondering how it happened.
The real attraction, though, is the network of pedestrian bridges linking everything together. Rather than dodging traffic at street level, you can wander along elevated walkways suspended between the buildings. It feels a little like walking through a science-fiction film set — if the set designer had a deep and abiding affection for concrete.
The views are surprisingly good too. Every so often the walkways open up to reveal framed views of the surrounding skyscrapers, the Ferry Building and the waterfront beyond. Below, traffic crawls through the streets while above you office towers disappear into the sky.
Accessibility-wise, it's... let's call it a work in progress. Some sections have ramps and gentle slopes, while others suddenly present a small flight of steps as though the architect momentarily forgot wheelchairs existed. To be fair I think most of the ramps where added where they could in later years During the day this isn't usually a problem because you can often duck into one of the buildings and use a lift. After office hours, however, the whole place becomes much more interesting.
And by interesting, I mean confusing. Once the workers go home and the shops begin to close, the Financial District empties out surprisingly quickly. The walkways become quiet, the courtyards fall silent, and the whole complex takes on an almost surreal atmosphere. Instead of feeling like a shopping centre, it starts to resemble the abandoned set of a futuristic film. Not that I'm complaining. Some of my favourite photographs in San Francisco have come from places exactly like this. The paths are lined with planters overflowing with ivy and seasonal flowers, nature doing its best to soften the relentless grey concrete. Every now and then you stumble across a hidden seating area, a tucked-away courtyard, or a dramatic spiral staircase that looks incredibly useful right up until the moment you discover it doesn't actually take you anywhere you need to go.
One of the highlights is the Embarcadero Three courtyard, home to Skygate, a huge stainless-steel sculpture that appears to have been designed by someone asking the question, "How large can we make this before people become nervous standing underneath it?" The bridges don't just connect the four towers either. They stretch towards the Hyatt Regency and Justin Herman Plaza, creating a secret upper-level city where it's possible to walk from the Financial District towards the waterfront while barely encountering a traffic light.
It's one of those places that rewards wandering without a plan. In the evening, the atmosphere changes again. The crowds thin out, the lighting becomes softer, and the whole complex feels calm and strangely peaceful. During the Christmas season, thousands of white lights outline the towers, transforming what is essentially a giant concrete office development into something surprisingly magical. Proof, perhaps, that with enough imagination — and enough electricity — even a concrete jungle can learn a few new tricks.
Movie History, Beer & Burgers
Just around the corner from the end of the pedway sits the Hyatt Regency, and if you can afford it, this is one hotel I'd happily recommend. This place has to be seen to be believed.
We'd heard it was impressive, but nothing quite prepares you for walking through the doors and suddenly feeling very, very small. The lobby is absolutely enormous — a cavernous, cathedral-like atrium stretching seventeen storeys into the air, with the balconies of every guest room lining the edges and looking down into the space below. It's the kind of place where you walk in, stop dead, and immediately look upwards. Which is exactly what we did.
The Hyatt actually holds the Guinness World Record for the world's largest hotel lobby atrium, and the moment you're standing inside, that fact becomes entirely believable. The walls slope upwards and inwards as they rise, giving the whole building a distinctly futuristic feel — part luxury hotel, part science-fiction film set. Dominating the floor is Eclipse, a three-storey geodesic sphere sculpture made from gold-anodised aluminium tubes. It sits in the centre of the atrium looking as though somebody borrowed a prop from a Stanley Kubrick film and forgot to return it.
Then there are the lifts. Glass-walled cylindrical pods that glide up and down the inside of the atrium, carrying guests seventeen floors above the lobby floor. From the ground, they look spectacular. From inside them, I suspect they look terrifying. We chose to admire them from a safe distance while other, braver souls rode up and down the building. From our position on the ground floor, surrounded by bars, cafés, indoor trees and gently trickling water features, it felt like the more sensible option.
What makes the building even more interesting is its connection to Hollywood. The atrium was used as a filming location for the 1974 disaster classic The Towering Inferno, standing in for the lobby of the fictional Glass Tower. Those famous glass lifts featured prominently in some of the film's most memorable scenes, and standing there looking up at them, it's easy to see why the filmmakers chose this location. Remarkably, the space still looks much as it did on screen more than forty years later.
Honestly, even if you're not staying here, it's worth walking through the doors just to experience it for yourself. Go in. Look up. Trust me.
Din Dins In The District
By now we were starting to wilt, so with the clock creeping toward 5 p.m. we decided to catch the bus for the short ride back toward the hotel. The plan was to stop off at Murphy’s Pub for a drink — but that idea lasted all of three seconds. The place was absolutely packed, nowhere to sit, and the noise hit us like a wall. It calls itself an Irish bar and proudly advertises traditional fish and chips, but on a previous visit Jane declared the fish and chips “rubbish,” which is about as damning as a review gets.
There are plenty of seats inside, but most of them are the tall bar-stool type, and Jane struggles with those. The few low tables are squeezed together so tightly you practically need a crowbar to get in and out. After the peace and quiet of the park earlier, the whole atmosphere felt jarring. So we gave it a miss.
But eat we must — so we crossed the road to Super Duper Burger. Their burgers are juicy, reliably good, and while not exactly cheap, you get what you pay for. We sat inside and demolished them with the enthusiasm of people who had absolutely earned their dinner. They even give you one of those little vibrating discs that buzz when your order is ready — the sort of thing that makes the place look a bit shabby from the outside, but I’ve learned not to judge restaurants by appearances. Plenty of places will charge you a fortune and still half-kill you with bad food.
This is the heart of the Financial District, so there’s no shortage of places to eat. I’m always suspicious of restaurants that are empty at six in the evening, or anywhere with napkins folded into birds and tucked into wine glasses with no price list outside. We’re more table and chairs bolted to the floor type diners.
With dinner dealt with, all that remained was the essential evening supply run. A quick stop at the shop near the burger restaurant provided beer, snacks and other necessities before we began the slow ten-minute walk back to the hotel.
By this point the day was definitely starting to catch up with us. No matter how much fun you're having, being on the go from morning until evening eventually takes its toll. Back at the hotel, with the wheelchair repaired, a decent meal inside us, and another successful day added to the trip, it felt good to finally put our feet up and do absolutely nothing for a while. Sometimes that's exactly what a holiday needs.
Refections On The Day
Today proved that there is no such thing as a quiet day in San Francisco.
What was supposed to be an easier day quickly turned into another adventure, but the real success wasn't any of the places we visited. It was getting the wheelchair repaired. Seeing Jane able to move around comfortably again lifted a huge weight from both of us and reminded me how much travel often depends on solving small practical problems rather than ticking famous landmarks off a list.
The city seemed determined to show us all its different sides today. There was the chaos of Market and Van Ness, the crowds and noise of Chinatown, and the packed buses that somehow never seem to have an empty seat. Yet there were also moments of unexpected calm: sitting among the redwoods in Yerba Buena Gardens, discovering hidden viewpoints above the bay, and finding quiet corners tucked away between the skyscrapers.
Perhaps that's what I enjoy most about San Francisco. Just when it starts to feel overwhelming, it offers a place to stop, catch your breath, and take it all in.
By the end of the day we were tired, carrying beer and snacks back to the hotel, but it was the satisfying sort of tiredness that comes from a day well spent. The wheelchair was working again, we'd discovered a few new places, and the city had once again managed to surprise us.
Not bad for a day that was supposed to be an easy one.
⮝
