Reflections 9 years later

Reflections 9 years later 

Here I am in 2026, and somehow the opportunity to go back still hasn't quite presented itself. It's strange how much can change in nine years, yet as I've worked through this journal again, parts of it have felt like they only happened yesterday. 

Rewriting it with the technology that's available now has given me something I didn't have the first time around: the ability to find the words I always struggled to put to what I was actually feeling. Going back through the photographs has filled in the gaps left by time and brought memories back into sharper focus. More than anything, it reminded me just how much those years without travel made me appreciate these journeys, and it was that realisation that finally inspired me to revisit all of my old journals properly. 

Travel & Accessibility What We Learned 

We don't own a car, and I have no intention of driving while on holiday. I'm not sure I could ever get my head around being on the opposite side of the road, and honestly, it's not a chance I'd want to take. Fortunately, San Francisco has always been one of those cities where a car is more of a burden than a necessity, with a public transport network that was already impressive during our visit and has continued to evolve ever since. 

Over the same period, Jane's mobility has worsened considerably—we even moved house because of it—but it has never stopped her determination to keep travelling. Looking back now, I'm even more grateful that we experienced the city when we did. 

Transport in San Francisco has changed enormously. COVID reshuffled the deck in ways nobody could have predicted. Gone is the 76X that carried us across the Golden Gate Bridge, along with several other routes we came to rely on. In many ways, our journal captures a version of the city that no longer exists.

Not all of it is doom and gloom, though. After years of construction work that began tunnelling back in 2012, the T Line extension finally opened in 2023, running from the ballpark through to Chinatown. Some things, it turns out, really are worth the wait. 

The changing skyline & city evolution 

Like all cities, the skyline is forever shifting, though San Francisco has always seemed to move at its own pace. Towering skyscrapers remain very much a downtown affair, and there still aren't that many of them. But change happens in other ways too. 

The Vaillancourt Fountain—that magnificently baffling concrete tangle we spent a good paragraph trying to make sense of—is now in the process of being removed. It hadn't worked in years, and the cost of repairing it turned out to be roughly the same as redeveloping the entire plaza into a new park. Even brutalism, it seems, has a budget. 

AT&T Park is now Oracle Park, still home to the Giants and, depending on the season, still probably not winning enough. China Basin, just a short walk away, has become expensive apartments, although they did build a new waterfront park alongside them, so swings and roundabouts. The Transbay Transit Center—arguably the most expensive bus station ever built— opened and then promptly closed again after a crack appeared in one of its main support beams. To their credit, they fixed it fairly quickly. The rooftop park, complete with a free gondola ride to the top, is exactly the sort of thing we'd have made a beeline for. 

Not every change has been by choice. Rouge Bar was lost to fire. The Nob Hill Theatre didn't survive the pandemic. COVID, more than anything else, reshaped the city in ways that still linger. As a city built around the tech industry, San Francisco emptied almost overnight when office workers went remote. Many left the Bay Area altogether. Large companies reduced their office space, and the effects rippled through cafés, shops and restaurants across downtown. The Westfield Shopping Centre is now largely hollow, its flagship stores long gone. The Crocker Galleria—where we happily ate our weight in Jimmy John's sandwiches—survives, but as a shadow of what it once was. Even out in the Marin Headlands, the visitor centre has closed, and the bus service that took us there has disappeared with it.

But it isn't all bleak. Tunnel Tops opened in 2022, creating a sweeping new park linking the Presidio with Crissy Field—exactly the sort of public space San Francisco has always done well. Cities are living things: they lose places, gain new ones, stumble, adapt and reinvent themselves. Looking back now, this journal has become more than a record of our holiday; it's a snapshot of a version of San Francisco that can never quite exist again. 

How This Trip Shapes Our Future Plans 

When it comes to transport, we never stop learning—and some things never change, whatever city you're in. We're looking at you, Vendy-bots. 

Time, however, brings its own adjustments. Jane's mobility has continued to decline, and retracing exactly what we did on this trip simply isn't practical anymore. That doesn't stop us planning, though. A disability isn't a reason to stay home; it just means you travel differently. You build in more time, think further ahead, and accept that the route might look a little different from the one you first imagined. I'm not getting any younger either, and pushing a wheelchair uphill on a pavement with even the slightest camber is considerably more of a workout than it sounds. 

In many ways, that change has been a positive one. Spending more time working out public transport, finding accessible routes, and slowing the pace means you notice far more of the place you're actually visiting. We've never been interested in racing from one famous landmark to the next just to tick boxes. If anything, this trip confirmed that the best memories usually happen somewhere in between. 

From Journal to Legacy — A Creative Journey 

I started rewriting these journals over a year ago. The original idea was simple enough: correct the spelling and grammar, upload everything back to Blogger where it all lives alongside the photo albums, and call it done. Then I made a few changes to the site layout, decided I could make it look a bit smarter, and promptly opened a rather large can of worms. 

With the arrival of AI, I've been able to achieve things on Blogger that I'd never have managed on my own. I've got some basic coding skills, but Blogger has always done things its own way. Describe a problem clearly enough, though, and AI can often point you towards a solution in seconds. It doesn't do the work for you—you still have to experiment, tweak, and occasionally wonder why two seemingly identical templates behave completely differently—but it has become an invaluable tool rather than a shortcut. 

Back in 2012, when we travelled to New York, I never imagined I'd still be working on these journals more than a decade later. In many ways, they've grown up alongside me. What began as a straightforward tidy-up became a complete reimagining: rewritten narratives, a redesigned website, audio versions, e-books, online photo books, and now this appendix, looking back with the benefit of time. The technology will keep evolving, and no doubt these journals will evolve with it. But at their heart they'll always be the same thing: a way of preserving not just where we went, but how it felt to be there. 

Rediscovering Memories Through Writing, My Final Thoughts 

Going back through the photographs, notes, and everything I'd written all those years ago has brought back so much. Not just the images of where we went, but the sounds, the smells, and the emotions that surrounded them. You'd think those things would fade with time, but many of them still feel as though they happened yesterday. Others catch me completely off guard: did we really do that? A single, slightly blurry photograph with a wonky skyline can unlock a memory I thought had disappeared forever. Those are often the moments I treasure most. 

There may come a time when we're no longer able to travel, and perhaps that's why I've devoted so much time to bringing these journals back to life. The photographs preserve what we saw. The writing preserves what happened. And I hope the audio preserves what it felt like. 

If these journals have taught me anything, it's that journeys don't really end when you come home. They wait patiently until you're ready to relive them again. 

Never give up dreaming of your next adventure. 

To Jane — my true love, my travelling companion, and the person who made every one of these adventures worth taking. 

Con 2026

Afterword

 Although we faced more than a few challenges getting around the city — the steep hills, the uneven pavements, the stops that looked perfectly accessible on Street View until you were actually standing at them — it goes to show that where there's a will, there's a way. Usually involving a bit of creative route planning, the occasional bout of mild profanity, and a cold beer at the end of it. San Francisco is a city we both fell for on our first visit back in 2013, and that hasn't changed. It has become a less straightforward tourist destination in recent years — you do notice things that weren't quite so visible before — but we've never been the sort to let what you see on the news make decisions for us. If you thought that way, you probably wouldn't get out of bed in the morning, let alone board an eleven-hour flight. I've spoken to plenty of people who've been here, though most of them visited years ago and haven't been back. I've only ever found one other person who loves it the way we do. There are plenty more cities across the USA on our list, but I suspect San Francisco will always be the one we keep coming back to — particularly in the quieter months, when the fog rolls in off the bay and the city does that thing where it feels like it belongs entirely to you. It's a city of extraordinary contrasts — friendly and chaotic, beautiful and baffling, with people from every corner of the world and restaurants to match just about every taste. Some of which, it has to be said, you'll probably want to avoid — the famed seafood restaurants down at Fisherman's Wharf being a case very much in point. There's still plenty we want to see, both in the city and beyond. But we'll get back to it. It'll probably be a few years yet and, in the meantime, the hearts we left here in 2013 will just have to keep the city company. One day we'll be back to check on them. "Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn't do than by the ones you did. So throw off the bowlines, sail away from the safe harbour. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover." Mark Twain

Nothing To Look Guilty About

 The cabin lights have finally come up. It has been daylight outside for quite some time, but nobody seems particularly keen to open the blinds — and quite right too. At this altitude it's essentially permanent, unfiltered sunshine. One enthusiastic blind opener and half the cabin would be temporarily blinded. Breakfast has been served and somewhere below us Ireland is sliding past beneath the clouds. Not long now. A little later comes Wales, then the Bristol Channel, and slowly the familiar patchwork of home begins to reassemble itself beneath us. There is something reassuring about seeing recognisable places again after nearly two weeks away. From up here the countryside looks neat, organised and almost peaceful. You can nearly pick out our house from the flight path, which is either comforting or a stark reminder that reality is waiting patiently for us on the ground. Watching the world drift by from a window seat is one of the best parts of travelling home. It's a quiet moment between one chapter and the next. If a long-haul flight has to be endured, overnight is definitely the way to do it. At least you arrive in the morning with some chance of functioning like a normal person rather than spending an entire day wondering what continent your body thinks it's on. The approach into London was particularly enjoyable, with familiar landmarks appearing through the morning haze. From 4,000 feet up it almost looks like a pleasant place. Mind you, there is still that muddy trench running through the middle of it that they insist on calling the River Thames. Nothing To Look Guilty About We don't normally book assistance on the return journey, which in hindsight was probably a mistake. The people who use it are whisked through the airport like visiting heads of state while the rest of us shuffle along behind looking slightly crumpled and sleep deprived. Thankfully we hadn't landed at Terminal 5. That place appears to have been designed by someone who felt airports should double as endurance events. You walk for what feels like several counties before boarding a self driving train that travels for approximately thirty seconds. I've never entirely understood the logic of it. The bags appeared surprisingly quickly and before long we were making the traditional walk through the Nothing to Declare channel. It's one of life's great mysteries that even people carrying absolutely nothing of interest suddenly feel guilty at this point. We never buy duty free. We had nothing to declare. Yet there we were, staring determinedly into the middle distance, trying to project the confidence of innocent travellers while secretly wondering if an overpriced hoodie from Walgreens somehow counts as international smuggling. Nobody wants their bags tossed out and their life examined at seven in the morning, least of all after ten hours in a tin tube over the Atlantic. Nobody stopped us, nobody searched us, and within minutes we were through. The trip was over. All that remained was the final journey home, a cup of tea, and the gradual process of convincing ourselves that San Francisco had really happened and wasn't just a particularly vivid dream. Final Steps, The Journey Home We cleared the airport fairly quickly — which, after fourteen days of navigating San Francisco's finest public transport adventures, felt almost suspiciously straightforward. It always seems to be the same driver who picks us up, and after a bit of cheerful chit-chat somewhere around the M25, we both quietly surrendered to sleep for most of the eighty-minute ride home, arriving back around ten in the morning. We'd booked the return journey in advance because, after everything this trip had thrown at us, the idea of wrestling with luggage, a wheelchair, and a series of connections across the south of England held absolutely no appeal whatsoever. After what we'd spent on the trip, a taxi home wasn't exactly extravagant — it was just common sense wearing a sensible coat. After a quick nap, Jane headed out to do some shopping because we'd come home to an entirely empty fridge, in the way that only returning travellers truly understand. I went to the pub for a bit. Priorities. I wasn't back at work for a few days, which gave us both some time to ease back into reality and shake off the jet lag — although whether it counts as jet lag when you haven't actually slept is a philosophical question I'll leave for another day. And that, as they say, concludes our San Francisco adventure. Thanks for reading. Do make sure you have a look at the afterword, and there's a handy collection of facts and figures at the back if you enjoy that sort of thing. A Note from Jane and Con Every trip we take is, in some ways, a small act of defiance. Against the hills, the broken pavements, the ramps that aren't quite where they're supposed to be, and the buses that don't quite reach the kerb. Against the idea that travelling with a wheelchair means travelling with limitations. San Francisco has never made things easy for us — which may be exactly why we keep going back. This journal is dedicated to Jane, who rolls through life with more patience, good humour, and quiet determination than I could ever hope to manage on two functioning legs. None of this happens without her. Here's to the next one, Jane

Adiós SF

Bay Bridge
 & downtown

So that's it, time to leave after 2 weeks in a city we love, it wasn't without its challenges as usual but there's always something that goes wrong and the wheelchair throwing a front wheel on the first day didn't help. It was only a day & half before we got it fixed but it screwed things up a bit plus Jane had to do more walking than planned to start with so that caused problems with her leg. The only other problems were some hills are steeper than I thought but it's not easy to work this out from Google Street View so that was always going to be a bit of a swing & a miss some days but on the whole we got through and seen some fantastic places that we haven't been to before but missed some as well. There seem to be a lot more crazy people here now so was verbally abused on a couple of occasions but you don't take that sort of thing personal here as most of the homeless are mentally ill, when somebody stops in the middle of the road and starts dancing while the police are waiting to cross that will give you an idea of what you come across most days. The hotel was a bit strange as they wanted a $100 per night deposit and at 13 nights we didn't budget for that but who would as there was no mention on the website about it. Turns out it max's out at $500 but we only had $400 on a prepaid credit card so they took that but the balance was available on Friday so drawn most of it out at the cash machine as you pay a conversation rate when you get back here and lose money on it. Flights all went ok and didn't get groped at the airport by the TSA but Jane did but you just go with the flow. So that's it from this blog I seem to sort out the most problems with the formatting of the text but may still look a little odd in parts. So check back on the photo page as the upload speed wasn't any good in the hotel and new albums will appear there when I've done them at home.

Adiós from SF Vacation 2017.

Anything can happen Friday

The last full day. I always feel it coming before it arrives — that quiet, unspoken thing that hangs over the final twenty-four hours of any holiday, equal parts wistfulness and the creeping knowledge that the suitcases are going to need packing. The only cure, as far as I can tell, is to fill every remaining minute with something worth remembering.

Anything Can Happen Friday

So that's exactly what we did. Jane had shopping in mind; I had steep hills and a camera. First though, we did what we always do when we need to ease ourselves gently into the day — we headed to Union Sqare for a coffee. It's my second favourite spot in the city, after Pier 39, and the kind of place where you can sit with a drink, watch the cable cars grind their way up Powell Street, and feel like San Francisco is putting on a show just for you. 

It never gets old. 

We sat for a while longer than we probably needed to, because we both knew, without saying it, that this was one of the last times we'd be doing exactly this for quite some time. There was no rush to move on. The city wasn't going anywhere, but our time in it was. 

From there I walked Jane over to the Cheesecake Factory in Macy's — she was set for the morning — and then I turned myself loose on the city. 

This is a tradition we've quietly fallen into over the years: setting aside one or two days on a longer trip where we go off on our own and do whatever we want, no agenda, no compromise, no "well, I suppose we could." After eleven days together — brilliant days, but eleven of them — a few hours of separate wandering does wonders for the soul. And for the marriage, if we're being honest. 

This time around, staying in touch was easy enough — free Wi-Fi dotted across the city, and Google Maps' location sharing meant we could keep tabs on each other without having to coordinate like a military operation. Jane could see I was working my way up something impossibly steep; I could see she was, sensibly, not. 

There were a couple of places I still wanted to tick off the list. One Jane had already visited on a previous trip, and the other involved a hill that I'd have been pushing my luck to suggest. These things happen when you plan a fortnight in San Francisco — some places are simply better suited to solo expeditions, and rather than spend time finding workarounds, it makes more sense to have a day like this baked into the itinerary from the start. 

That way nobody misses out, nobody has to pretend they're fine about standing at the bottom of something spectacular while someone else climbs it, and we both get to come back to the hotel in the evening with our own stories to tell. 

Which, if you ask me, is what a good holiday should feel like. Not spending every minute side by side, but giving each other the space to enjoy it in our own way before coming back together to share it all afterwards. On the last full day of the trip, it felt like exactly the right thing to do.

Take My Breath Away

After leaving Jane to her shopping, I headed down to Market Street and caught a bus to California Street. The original plan had been to take the cable car up to the top of Nob Hill, but there was nothing at the turnaround and nothing coming back down the hill either, which meant it was probably going to be a long wait for the privilege of an eight-dollar ride. I decided to cut my losses, caught the number 12 bus to Taylor Street instead, and set off on foot for Ina Coolbrith Park. 

They say that if the climb up the hill doesn't take your breath away, the view certainly will. I can confirm it achieved both, in that order, without much of a gap between them. 

You don't really arrive at Ina Coolbrith Park so much as stumble upon it. One minute you're walking past elegant old apartment buildings and streets so steep they seem more like a dare than a road, and the next there's a narrow staircase disappearing into greenery, with postcard views already bursting out between the trees before you've even reached the top. 

The park was dedicated in 1911 to Ina Coolbrith, California's first Poet Laureate — a fitting tribute to someone who dealt in beauty, because the view from up here is something else entirely. The park itself is tiny — barely more than terraced paths, stairways, benches and densely planted gardens tumbling down the hillside — but it feels enormous because of what you can see from it. At almost 300 feet above the bay, the downtown skyline rises straight ahead, the Bay Bridge stretches across the water to the east, Coit Tower pokes up from Telegraph Hill, and Alcatraz Island sits out in the bay looking exactly like it knows it's famous. 

Apart from one other person quietly reading on a bench, I had the whole place to myself. I spent the best part of an hour up there, taking photos and simply soaking it all in, which is about as close to perfect as a solo morning gets. It's one of those places that somehow feels both hidden and iconic at the same time. Looking back at the photographs now, they're a nice reminder of the view, but they still don't quite capture what it felt like to stand there. The words I've written here don't really do it justice either.

Cable Curiosity

After spending time at the park, I headed back the way I came, cut through a few side streets, and made my way to the Cable Car Museum — or the cable car barn, as it's more accurately known, because that's exactly what it is. I'd been here before, but it's one of those places that earns a return visit without having to try very hard. 

What makes it genuinely special is that it isn't just a museum in the traditional sense — it's a working powerhouse, and it has been since the day it opened in 1887, although it only opened to the public as a museum in 1984. This is the beating heart of the entire cable car network, the place where four enormous winding wheels, each one the size of a small house, turn continuously day and night, pulling the cables that run beneath the city streets. 

Those cables never stop moving, except for maintenance. They travel at a constant nine and a half miles per hour beneath the road surface, and the cable cars above grip and release them to start and stop. It's an elegantly simple idea that hasn't changed in any meaningful way since Andrew Hallidie first introduced it to San Francisco in 1873, which tells you everything you need to know about how well it works. 

The upper floor is given over to displays tracing the history of the system — how it evolved, how it survived earthquakes, near abolition, and the relentless march of progress to become the last manually operated cable car network in the world. There's a gantry up here where you can lean over and look down to the lower floor, watching the winding gear turning with a deep, rhythmic thrum that you feel as much as hear. 

It's the kind of thing that makes you stop and stare longer than you expect to, partly because it's impressive, and partly because it seems almost absurd that this Victorian-era engineering is still, right now, hauling cable cars up some of the steepest streets in America. 

Admission is free, which feels like a minor miracle given how good it is. 

After I'd had my fill, I couldn't be bothered waiting for a bus, so I wandered through the side streets instead, camera out, no particular plan in mind beyond heading roughly downhill. This is one of those cities where you could never run out of things to photograph — every corner throws up a different angle, a new combination of hills and painted wood, brick, and sky. 

I filmed a few cable cars grinding their way past and just drifted, which is sometimes the best thing you can do. Some of my favourite travel memories come from moments like this, when there isn't really a destination, just a direction. 

I knew that if I kept heading downhill I'd eventually come out near Chinatown, and from there it was a short walk to the pub — any pub. A well-earned beer, I told myself. Maybe just one. Though experience suggested that was a promise I wasn't especially likely to keep.

Getting Tipsy in Topsy's

I walked down through Chinatown and nearly straight past the hotel without stopping, which tells you everything you need to know about Chinatown: chaos. We've never really gone out of our way to spend time there across any of our three visits, and having now walked through it properly, I can confirm that instinct was sound. It's not for us, in my entirely personal and completely unscientific opinion. Moving on. 

It was mid-afternoon by now, and by my count I'd only been in two pubs since arriving in San Francisco, which felt like a situation in need of addressing. I'd walked past Topsy's Bar on Montgomery Street several times over the fortnight and always hesitated — it's the kind of place that looks almost deliberately uninviting from the outside, dark enough that you can't quite see in and aren't entirely sure you're supposed to. But this was the last day, caution could go and do one, and in I went. 

I'm glad I did. Inside, it was exactly what a proper American bar should be — small, unhurried, and comfortable in the way that only places with no interest in being fashionable ever manage to be. Spinning bar stools, a couple of deep sofas to sink into, and the kind of lighting that suggests the bulbs were chosen specifically to discourage anyone from leaving in a hurry. 

I took a seat at the bar, which is always the right move if you want to get a feel for a place. You see who comes in, catch the odd fragment of conversation, and get a quiet sense of how the city works for the people who actually live in it rather than photograph it. The beer was a locally brewed pint at $7, which in US terms is a slightly smaller glass than you'd get at home but considerably stronger, so it evens itself out rather nicely. 

They didn't have Wi-Fi, but I discovered that the Subway a couple of doors down had a signal just strong enough to reach my bar stool if I held the phone at a specific and slightly undignified angle. Sometimes you take what you can get. 

After four drinks — which felt entirely reasonable given the circumstances — it was time to move on. I crossed the road to Murphy's, which holds a particular place in my personal history as the pub where I got thoroughly drunk on Christmas Eve back in 2013. Some places leave a lasting impression because of the architecture, the atmosphere, or the history. Murphy's managed it through a combination of local brews and poor decision-making. 

It was busy by now, well into the late-afternoon rush, but I managed to squeeze onto a bar stool and ordered another local brew for the road. Murphy's does good beer, a decent atmosphere, and absolutely nothing to be ashamed of, which is more than can be said for some places. 

By now Jane was somewhere nearby, doing whatever it is Jane does when left unsupervised with a credit card and a city full of shops. We weren't far from the hotel, so we arranged to meet just around the corner — the perfect end to a very satisfying afternoon's independent research, as I shall officially be calling it.

Return To Murphy’s Bar

For our last night, we had grand plans — a proper sit-down meal at a restaurant not far from the hotel that had come recommended. I'd read the reviews, it sounded promising, and we were prepared to push the boat out. 

There was just one small problem: when we turned up at 6:30 on a busy Friday evening, the place was completely empty. Not quiet. Not winding down or gearing up. Empty. 

And as any seasoned traveller will tell you, there is always a reason for that, and it is never a good one. 

We looked at each other, looked at the restaurant, and kept walking. 

The last thing either of us needed — with a ten-hour flight home the following morning — was a culinary adventure of the wrong kind. Some risks are simply not worth taking at altitude. 

With the Italian option now firmly off the table, we did what any sensible person does when faced with an uncertain dining landscape in an unfamiliar city: we went back to the pub. 

Specifically, back to Murphy's, which at least had the advantage of being a known quantity. Now, Murphy's will tell you — with some confidence — that they serve the best fish and chips in the area. What they perhaps haven't accounted for is that neither Jane nor I have ever been to the area they're comparing themselves to, and it certainly isn't anywhere in the UK. 

Jane ordered it anyway, in the spirit of fairness, while I went for the mac and cheese, which turned out to be the significantly better call at roughly half the price. I had a taste of the fish and chips to satisfy my curiosity, which was all the convincing either of us needed. We quietly consolidated our efforts onto my plate and shared the mac and cheese between us, which was enormous and still defeated us completely. 

With hindsight, we should have ordered a single portion from the start. Unlike back home, nobody here looks at you sideways for sharing a meal — the waiter simply brings an extra fork and gets on with it. No judgement, no raised eyebrow, no sense that you've committed some minor social offence against the restaurant trade. A lesson learned and filed away for next time. 

Besides, there was something rather fitting about ending the trip not with an expensive meal in a fancy restaurant, but in a familiar pub, sharing a plate of comfort food and laughing about how our carefully considered dinner plans had lasted all of thirty seconds.

The Hoodie Quest

After having our photo taken outside the pub — because if it isn't documented, it didn't happen — we walked our evening meal off and headed back to the hotel. Jane set about packing the rest of our things while I did what I always do in that situation, which is sit in front of the television and offer absolutely no help whatsoever. 

Eventually, with the bags sorted and the room looking considerably less like a jumble sale, I decided to go for one last walk. 

It was going to be three or four years before we'd be back here at the earliest. That thought had been sitting quietly at the back of my mind all day, and the only sensible response to it was to go out and squeeze a little more of the city in before bed. 

By 9:30 it was a warm, still evening, and Union Square was doing that thing it does at night where the department stores glow, the cable cars rattle past, and the whole place feels like it's been lit specifically for your benefit. There were just as many photo opportunities as during the day, if not more — the kind of shots that only work when the artificial light is doing the heavy lifting and everything looks slightly more cinematic than it has any right to be. 

I'm not sure how long I spent just wandering, but it didn't feel wasted. In fact, it felt like exactly what the evening was for. 

I also had one last mission to complete before leaving San Francisco. Every city I visit, I buy a hoodie with the location on it. I have no idea when this became a thing, but it has, and the collection is growing. Simple as that. 

What is not simple, as it turns out, is finding one that actually fits. Every hoodie I picked up was labelled large and sized for someone considerably more compact than me. Sizes make no sense in this city. 

After working my way around no fewer than five Walgreens stores — which felt like a lot of effort for a sweatshirt, and probably was — I eventually found what I was looking for back down on Market Street in an XL. I can only assume that the majority of San Francisco's souvenir-buying visitors are not built like a bloke from Gosport, but there we go. Worth every step. 

By 10:30 I was heading back, strolling through the quiet streets at a pace that suited the occasion. I'd have liked to stop for a swift one at Johnny Foley's just off Union Square, but it was out of the way and tomorrow was going to be a long day. Some things you leave for next time. 

And there would be a next time. There always is with this city. 

Back at the hotel by eleven, I took one last look out at the lights beyond the window before closing the curtains and turning in for the night. The holiday was effectively over now; only the journey home remained. 

A few hours later I'd close the hotel room door behind me for the final time, but in my mind this was the moment the trip really ended. For now, though, San Francisco could wait patiently for our return.

Refections On The Day

Today felt like a gentle goodbye. 

Not a dramatic one, nor a sad one exactly, just the quiet acceptance that comes when you've had enough time somewhere to stop feeling like a visitor and start feeling comfortable. There was no pressure to tick off landmarks or cram in one last big experience. Instead, the day became about enjoying the city for what it was — familiar streets, favourite places, unexpected moments, and the simple pleasure of wandering without much purpose. 

What stayed with me most was how easy everything felt. Jane and I spent part of the day doing our own thing, then came back together with different stories to tell. There was something reassuring in that. After nearly two weeks away, we'd settled into the rhythm of the place and into the rhythm of the holiday itself. 

As the evening drew in, there was an awareness that this chapter was coming to an end, but it didn't feel final. San Francisco has a habit of doing that. No matter how many times you leave, it never really feels like goodbye — more like pressing pause on a conversation you know you'll return to one day. 

And somehow that's a comforting thought.

⇧

Ferry Plaza & Bay Front Trail

It would appear that the weather forecasts here are every bit as accurate as the ones back home. Today's prediction was for much cooler temperatures, but whoever made that forecast clearly hadn't looked out of the window. Knowing we were planning to spend most of the day down on the Bay waterfront, I packed a light jacket just in case. As it turned out, it spent most of the day stuffed in my bag doing absolutely nothing. 

We didn't head out until around 11 o'clock. From the hotel, we walked down to Market Street and caught the bus to the Ferry Plaza, ready for another day of exploring the waterfront and seeing where the day would take us.

A Temple To Transit

One of our favourite places in the city is the San Francisco Railway Museum, still affectionately known by many locals and transit enthusiasts as the Market Street Railway Museum. It's only a small museum, but what it lacks in size it more than makes up for in character, explaining just about everything you could ever want to know about San Francisco's historic streetcars and the golden age of public transport. Couple that with the vintage trams rumbling past outside every few minutes and it feels less like a museum and more like a living exhibit. 

Inside are old fare boxes, vintage signs, historic photographs, route maps, uniforms, and all sorts of wonderfully specific transport oddities that make you realise San Francisco once treated streetcars almost like a civic religion. One of the highlights is a full-size replica of the driving platform from a 1911 streetcar, where you can stand at the controls and pretend you're piloting several tons of noisy electric machinery down Market Street while pedestrians casually ignore your existence. 

The museum does a fantastic job of showing how San Francisco grew around its transit system. Before cars took over, the city was stitched together by streetcars and cable cars carrying people to work, parks, baseball games and neighbourhoods perched on seemingly impossible hills. There's a lovely sense that transit wasn't just a way of getting around — it was part of the city's identity and daily life. 

It's also refreshingly unpretentious. There are no giant queues, no flashy interactive displays, and no over-produced tourist spectacle. Just passionate volunteers and preservationists keeping an important piece of San Francisco's histor alive for anyone curious enough to step through the door.

Coffee With Movie History

Once outside, we crossed the road and passed the concrete tube fountain before arriving at the Ferry Building. 

Completed in 1898, it is one of San Francisco's most iconic buildings. Its imposing clock tower rises 245 feet above the waterfront and has survived both the devastating earthquakes of 1906 and 1989. Unfortunately, with the construction of bridges across the bay from the 1930s onwards, ferry traffic steadily declined. As services became less frequent, the building lost much of its original purpose and was gradually divided into office space, with little regard for its grand architecture. 

The building suffered another blow in the late 1950s when the Embarcadero Freeway was constructed directly in front of it. The elevated road almost completely obscured the Ferry Building from public view and severed much of its connection with the waterfront. Following the 1989 earthquake, sections of the freeway were badly damaged, with parts collapsing altogether. Rather than rebuild it, the decision was made to demolish the structure and redevelop the area. The result was the creation of the plaza that now stands in front of the building, along with the extension of the F-Line streetcars along the waterfront to Fisherman's Wharf. It was during this redevelopment that the Ferry Building was restored to its former glory. 

Today happened to be farmers market day, with stalls spread across the plaza outside. Inside, the building is packed with food shops and artisan producers. One of our favourites is the Golden Gate Meat Company, which sells the best turkey pies I've ever tasted. At seven dollars each they're certainly not cheap, but they're worth every penny. 

Just around the corner is Peet's Coffee, so we grabbed a drink to go with our pies and found a seat by the window overlooking the bay. This is the same location used for several scenes in one of the Clint Eastwood Dirty Harry films, although I can never remember exactly which one. With views across the water towards Treasure Island and the immense structure of the Bay Bridge stretching away to the right, it's the perfect place to stop for lunch. The bridge is one of those landmarks that never quite looks real until you're standing beside it. No matter how many photographs you've seen, it's difficult to appreciate just how enormous it actually is.

Bimballing Along The Bay

From the Ferry Building we headed along The Bay Front Trail, pausing at the rather pleasant courtyard outside the local offices of Google and Firefox — not somewhere you'd normally put on a must-see list, but a decent spot to sit and feel vaguely important for a few minutes — before crossing the road and hopping on a tram for a couple of stops to AT&T Park, home of the San Francisco Giants, who were gearing up for their first home game in a couple of weeks. 

Even three hours before first pitch, there was a buzz in the air. Fans in orange and black drifted steadily towards the stadium, conversations filled with optimism, ritual and hope. There's something infectious about baseball crowds. Even when you don't have a ticket, you can't help but get swept up in the anticipation of it all. 

We'd actually planned on going to see a game, but both fixtures were 7 pm starts, which meant you wouldn't be getting out of the ballpark until gone 11 pm, then still having to get back to the hotel. Add to that the fact that ticket prices seemed to have shot up considerably this year, and that the Giants hadn't exactly been setting the world alight on the field, and the decision more or less made itself. 

There was a small pang of disappointment though. Watching a Giants game had become one of those traditions that felt tied to our visits here, and it was strange being on the outside looking in. Still, sometimes travel is about knowing when not to force things. The atmosphere was free, the sunshine was free, and neither required a ticket. 

We still had a wander round the team shop, which was a treat — until you looked at the price tags, at which point it became considerably less of one. I did manage to justify a pen at $2, because frankly I had to buy something in there. A man has his principles. 

And honestly, it didn't matter that we hadn't ticked off a great long list of things today. For most of the trip we'd been chasing sights, covering miles, hopping on buses, trams and cable cars in an effort to make the most of every day. But somewhere along the way I'd forgotten that some of my favourite travel memories aren't the big attractions at all. 

Sometimes they're just moments. 

A warm afternoon. A walk with nowhere particular to be. The sound of the bay. Watching the city go about its business while you slow down long enough to appreciate being part of it for a little while. 

We strolled the Embarcadero between Cupid's Span and Pier 7, breathing in the bay air, with the paddle steamer San Francisco Belle sitting gleaming white in the sun like she hadn't a care in the world. After everything we'd packed into the previous week and a half, the lack of a plan felt almost luxurious. No rush. No timetable. Just the two of us enjoying the simple pleasure of being there. 

As the afternoon drifted towards evening, there was also the quiet awareness that our time in San Francisco was beginning to run short. Tomorrow would be our last full day. The city that had felt so vast and unfamiliar when we arrived now felt strangely comfortable, almost familiar. Those final days of a trip always carry a slightly bittersweet edge — wanting to make the most of every remaining hour while already knowing you'll miss the place when it's gone.

Reflections On The Day

Today was a reminder that not every memorable day needs a packed itinerary. There was something wonderfully relaxing about simply wandering the waterfront, soaking up the atmosphere, and enjoying the city at a slower pace. As the trip began to edge towards its final days, I found myself appreciating the small moments more than the big attractions — a good view, a warm afternoon, a quiet walk, and the simple pleasure of having nowhere in particular to be. Sometimes that's enough, and today it felt exactly right. 

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Stow lake & Stairways

Today was all about catching up on a few things we had missed earlier in the trip when the wheelchair decided to have its mechanical meltdown. We caught the 38R and then changed onto the 44 bus heading into Golden Gate Park.

Come on Brain, We Can Do It

This also provided another reminder that my British road-crossing instincts were still very much alive and well. Despite knowing perfectly well which direction we needed to travel, my brain kept insisting that the bus would arrive on the left-hand side of the road. Thankfully, a last-minute moment of clarity struck before we stood there looking foolish as our bus disappeared into the distance from the stop opposite. 

By this point, Jane had also developed a useful San Francisco transit skill of her own. She had learned how to tell the older buses with steps from the newer low-floor accessible ones. The secret lies entirely in the paintwork on the front and the shape of the headlights. Jane could now spot the difference from a surprising distance, making her something of an honorary Muni bus expert.

Turtles, Steps And What A View

When we got off the bus at the De Young Museum, we spent about twenty minutes rolling through the park toward Stow Lake — a place that always feels like its own little world tucked away inside Golden Gate Park. The lake is absolutely teeming with wildlife, including what looks like hundreds of turtles sunning themselves on rocks and logs. A legacy of the Ninja Turtle craze, I suspect, judging by the sheer number of them. Stow Lake was the first man-made lake in the park, created thanks to a $60,000 donation from W.W. 

Stow. It was built around a tall rocky outcrop that became Strawberry Hill, with Huntington Falls cascading down its eastern side. The waterfall is fed by water pumped up to a reservoir hidden among the trees before making its way back down the hillside. Unfortunately, the falls weren't running during our visit. The same thing had happened on previous trips, so perhaps we're simply unlucky with our timing. 

This whole area isn't really suitable for Jane, so I crossed the bridge onto the island in the middle of the lake and headed toward the Chinese pagoda before tackling the steep climb up the steps to the summit. There are a couple of small bridges crossing the waterfall route on the way up — scenic even without the water — and the climb is definitely a proper calf-burner. 

Once at the top, though, the effort is rewarded with some spectacular views. You don't get a full 360-degree panorama, but you do get a real sense of just how rugged San Francisco is, with hills and rocky outcrops rising and falling in every direction.

Boats, Brews And A Breather

From there, I carefully made my way back down the very steep steps to where I had left Jane. We then wandered around the edge of the lake, admiring the wildlife and soaking up the peaceful atmosphere. It really is a beautiful corner of the park and feels a world away from the busy city beyond its borders. 

Before long we arrived at the boathouse. They hire out both rowing boats and paddle boats, but I think I'm probably too old for either these days. In fact, I'd likely have had more trouble climbing into one than Jane would. Instead, we did the sensible thing and headed into the café for a coffee for me and a hot chocolate for Jane. 

Although it wasn't particularly cold, it wasn't especially warm either, so it was nice to sit down and warm up for a while. When I say it wasn't warm, you still didn't need a coat, but as I've mentioned before, San Francisco's microclimates can make the temperature feel completely different after only a short walk. 

Eventually, it was time to move on, so we retraced our steps around the lake to the De Young Museum and caught the number 44 bus for a couple of stops to Irving Street.

Inner Sunset, Pies, Glorious Pies

The area around 9th Avenue and Irving Street in the Inner Sunset feels like one of those neighbourhoods where the city suddenly remembers to breathe. It's busy, lively and full of people, but not in the frantic way you find downtown. Instead, it feels more like a village built around coffee, food, bookshops and the constant rumble of the N-Judah tram squeezing its way past parked cars and pedestrians who have clearly made their peace with it. 

This crossroads is essentially the heart of the Inner Sunset. Irving Street is lined with restaurants, bakeries, ramen shops, tiny independent stores, bubble tea cafés, old pubs and coffee shops packed so tightly together that a simple walk down the street usually turns into accidental window shopping. It's energetic without being overwhelming, urban without losing its community feel. You get a real sense of local life here — the kind of place that makes you slow your pace and start studying lunch menus you had no intention of reading five minutes earlier. 

Which brings me neatly to Peasant Pies. Sweet and savoury homemade pies for four dollars each. I went for the beef and potato, while Jane chose the ham and egg. Add a coffee and the whole lot came to less than eight dollars between us. This is exactly what I mean when I talk about living like a local: proper independent shops, simple food done well and no crowds of tourists getting in the way. You can't beat it. 

A little further along the street was a Radio Shack which, I'll admit, I thought had disappeared years ago. This one was holding a closing-down sale, so at least it was making its exit in style, even if I couldn't find anything worth buying. It had that familiar air of a place that was once essential and was now quietly packing up its things. The kind of street where, if you stumbled across a Blockbuster Video somehow still trading, you probably wouldn't be shocked. You'd just nod knowingly, wander inside and spend twenty minutes browsing DVDs for old times' sake.

A Stairway To The Skyline

We headed back to Irving Street to catch the number 66 bus. This is where something rather strange happened with the real-time information display. I'd heard people talk about it before but had never actually seen it myself. It's known as a "ghost bus" — when the tracking system shows a bus moving along its route and the countdown clock happily ticks away, yet the bus itself never appears. 

The really odd part is that the same information is fed to the phone apps, so they often show exactly the same thing. As far as anyone seems to know, nobody has ever fully explained why it happens. Whatever causes it, it appears to affect buses far more often than the trams. 

After a thirty-minute wait, a bus finally materialised and carried us up some of San Francisco's famously steep hills to the 16th Avenue Tiled Steps Project. 

Created by the local community and opened in 2005, the project transformed 163 ordinary steps into a giant mosaic artwork depicting a journey from sea to stars. This is one of those places that somehow manages to feel both hidden and famous at the same time. Tucked away in the residential streets of Golden Gate Heights, the staircase climbs between ordinary houses before suddenly exploding into colour, as though someone had tipped an enormous box of mosaic tiles down the hillside. 

Officially known as the Moraga Steps, every section forms part of a single flowing artwork. At the bottom, underwater scenes feature fish, shells and rolling waves. Higher up, the designs gradually transition through plants, birds and flowers before ending among the stars and sun motifs at the top. Climbing the staircase feels a little like moving through different layers of nature. 

San Francisco is full of stairways. Many began life simply as practical shortcuts connecting streets built across the city's countless hills and have been used by local residents for generations. The Moraga Steps take that idea and turn it into something far more memorable. They're not the easiest place to reach, which perhaps explains why relatively few tourists make the journey, but they're well worth the effort. 

Jane decided she was quite happy to admire the artwork from the bottom, so after taking a few photographs I began the climb alone. I'm not as young as I once was, and the ascent felt rather longer than 163 steps would suggest. By the time I reached the top, it felt as though I'd climbed the equivalent of a ten-storey building.

Grand View Park, A Bench Above The City

It's a real slog to get up here. 

The tiled staircase itself climbs around 90 feet over 163 mosaic-covered steps, but that's only the first stage. Once you've reached the top of the artwork, there's still another series of wooden and concrete stairways leading up into Grand View Park itself. The summit stands 666 feet above sea level, which is probably why it's such a devil to climb. 

In total, from Moraga Street to the summit viewpoint, you're gaining somewhere around 190 feet of elevation. It's hardly mountain-hiking territory, but San Francisco's hills are basically nature's StairMaster, and they do a very good job of reminding your legs that gravity exists. Most people seem to adopt the classic "pause to admire the view" technique about halfway up, which just happens to coincide with the point where breathing becomes noticeably more important. 

When I finally reached the top of the tiled steps, there was still work to do. First you cross a road, climb another set of concrete steps, cross yet another road, and then tackle the final stairway up to Grand View Park itself. 

The name makes perfect sense once you get there. From the summit, you are rewarded with sweeping views stretching all the way to the Pacific Ocean. Standing on this rocky outcrop, with the city spread out below and the ocean beyond, you get a real appreciation for just how hilly and rugged San Francisco actually is. 

The wind up there was ferocious. Although the temperature was probably around 12°C, the combination of the elevation and a wind of around 25 miles per hour made it feel closer to 6°C. I even had to tighten my hat to stop it disappearing into the next neighbourhood. 

The summit itself is surprisingly small, little more than a rocky platform with a single bench and enough room for a handful of people. On this occasion, though, I had it completely to myself. It felt like a private viewing platform suspended above the city. Sadly, there was no realistic way Jane could have made it up there. 

After taking a few photographs and spending a few minutes admiring the view, it was time to head back down before I froze to death and became the first casualty of suburban Mount Everest.

Hidden Garden Steps, The Secret Sibling

Back at the bottom, I found a rather chilly Jane waiting patiently, so we continued a little further along the road to the Hidden Garden Steps. 

These are another set of mosaic-covered stairs, but they attract far fewer visitors than their famous neighbour. Part of the reason is that the staircase bends halfway up, so you can never see the entire artwork in one glance. They feel like the quieter, slightly more secretive sibling of the 16th Avenue Tiled Steps. 

Located on 16th Avenue between Kirkham and Lawton Streets, they're only a short walk away, yet many visitors never discover them because they're too busy photographing the more famous staircase nearby. Instead of the ocean-to-stars theme of the Moraga Steps, these mosaics celebrate gardens and wildlife. As you climb, you pass giant flowers, mushrooms, butterflies, birds, insects, snails and twisting plants, all created from brightly coloured tiles. 

What really makes the place special, though, is the atmosphere. It's noticeably quieter than the nearby tiled steps. Instead of crowds, you hear birdsong, the wind rustling through the plants and the occasional distant sound of the city. Succulents and native plants line the staircase, making it feel less like a public footpath and more like a hidden passageway through somebody's surreal mosaic garden. 

With 148 steps, there's not a huge difference in height compared with the Moraga Steps, but personally I thought the artwork here was even better. The challenge was photographing it properly. Because the staircase is lined with trees on both sides, the light is surprisingly subdued even on a bright day. Capturing the colours meant experimenting with different angles, including the slightly ridiculous technique of holding the camera above my head and hoping for the best. 

I don't think I'd fancy walking down here at night. There didn't seem to be much street lighting, although that's not unusual in many American residential areas. If you tripped and fell, you'd become a human bowling ball. Knowing my luck, I'd finally come to a halt at the bottom only to get run over, Wile E. Coyote style. 

By now my legs had started filing formal complaints. This was supposed to be a holiday, not a boot camp for the vertically challenged and moderately unfit. It was time to go and find the ever-patient Jane once again.

A Tale Of Two Bus Stops 

It was now time to climb back up to where I had parked Lady Jane and wait for the bus back down the hill. The route only runs every twenty minutes, but I had seen one go past not long beforehand, so I reckoned we had about a fifteen-minute wait. 

Standing patiently beside the line painted on the lamppost that marked the bus stop, I suddenly realised something rather important. 

We were on the wrong side of the road. 

Again. 

For some reason, over the last couple of days I had managed to do this two or three times. I know perfectly well that Americans drive on the right, yet my brain kept insisting otherwise. What's even stranger is that I never seemed to have this problem on previous visits to San Francisco or other American cities. Perhaps I'm getting old. Come on brain, help me out here — we're supposed to be a team. 

Fortunately, the stop on the correct side of the road was only a short walk away, although finding it wasn't quite so straightforward. Unlike the clearly marked stop we had been standing at, this one appeared to consist of a yellow line roughly a foot long painted on the edge of a junction. Bus stops can be a little mysterious in San Francisco. 

By the time we relocated ourselves, there were only about five minutes left to wait. When the bus arrived, the driver lowered the suspension and deployed the wheelchair ramp, which unfolded rather dramatically like a hydraulic drawbridge. Unfortunately, despite all this engineering wizardry, it still didn't quite reach the ground. In the end, both Jane and I stood on it to persuade it down the last few inches. 

That probably wasn't helped by the fact that the road was being dug up and covered by a temporary steel plate. Roadworks seem to be a universal pastime these days. Wherever you go, somebody is digging a hole. The strange thing is that you rarely see anyone actually working in it. Back at the bottom of the hill, we only had to walk around the corner to catch the N-Judah tram back towards the city. By now it was rush hour, and despite being made up of three coupled units, the tram quickly became packed. I found this slightly surprising because we were travelling into the city rather than away from it, but clearly everyone else had similar plans. 

The only downside of using the tram is dealing with some of the station lifts downtown. To say they have a distinctive aroma would be generous. Some are worse than others, but let's just say you don't press the buttons with your fingers. This is a job for elbows. Veteran San Francisco transit users probably develop a technique for it.

The Beer Shop Loyalty Scheme

It's surprising where the time goes on some days. Before we knew it, the evening had crept up on us and it was time to sort out the essentials — something to eat from Jimmy John's and a resupply run to the beer shop around the corner. 

By this point, I was beginning to think I'd become something of a regular in there, which is either a sign of customer loyalty or a mild cause for concern, depending on your point of view. 

The evidence for the latter arrived one evening when the chap behind the counter handed me my purchase in one of those beer-can-sized brown paper bags. You know the sort — the ones people carry around on American television while sitting in doorways wearing a coat they may or may not have slept in. 

I genuinely wasn't sure whether to be offended or touched by the gesture. Perhaps I give off a certain energy. Perhaps I just have one of those faces. 

What really sealed my status as a regular, though, was the day I brought my own bag. 

They still put it in another one. 

Whether that's a legal requirement, company policy, or a quiet editorial comment on my lifestyle choices, I never quite worked out. Either way, I was clearly now recognised as a valued customer — and apparently one who, in their professional opinion, needed his beer discreetly concealed for the journey back to the hotel. 

Assuming, of course, that the beer actually made it that far.

Reflections On The Day 

oday felt like a reminder that some of the best parts of travel aren't the famous landmarks or the postcard views, but the unexpected corners in between. There was something satisfying about venturing beyond the places most visitors see and discovering parts of the city that felt quieter, more personal and more connected to the people who actually live there. 

It was also a day that highlighted the contrast between what each of us could experience. There were places I could climb to that Jane couldn't reach, and moments where we had to split up briefly before finding each other again. Yet somehow that never diminished the day. If anything, it reinforced how much of travelling together is about sharing the experience afterwards, comparing perspectives and helping each other enjoy places in different ways. 

As the evening drew in, there was a comforting sense of familiarity beginning to creep into what had once felt like a completely foreign city. The buses, the neighbourhoods, the local shops and even the small routines of daily life were starting to feel familiar. San Francisco no longer felt like somewhere we were simply visiting; for a little while at least, it felt like somewhere we belonged.

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Lands End walk

Today was another late start. We'd end up passing through a few places we'd already visited, but this route was the quickest and had the added bonus of avoiding much of the usual downtown chaos. Besides, if we're going to spend time on a bus, we might as well choose the most scenic route in the city.

Bounced Through The Presidio

We set off around 10:40 and caught the number 2 bus to Presidio & California Street. From there it was a short walk around the corner to pick up the number 43 to the Presidio Transit Café, leaving just enough time for a coffee before boarding the Presidio Go Hills shuttle down to Baker Beach. 

This is one of three free shuttle routes that loop around the Presidio, operated by what appears to be a retired school bus that someone has lovingly painted green in an attempt to help it blend into the surroundings. Admirable effort, but it still looks very much like a school bus wearing camouflage. 

Now, these are genuine old American school buses, and if you ever find yourself riding one, here's a useful tip: don't sit at the very back. Back there you're positioned roughly five feet behind the rear axle and spend the entire journey being bounced around like a pair of trainers in a tumble dryer. Every pothole becomes a personal event. Every speed bump, a small adventure. Fortunately, the journey only lasted fifteen minutes, which was about fourteen minutes longer than my spine would have liked. 

The shuttle drops you at the entrance to the Baker Beach car park, but instead of heading towards the sand there's a small trail that branches off to one side. 

We followed part of the Lobos Creek Trail, which winds through an area filled with native plants. To protect the fragile habitat, a concrete boardwalk has been built through much of the site. Apart from a few gentle slopes it was ideal for the wheelchair, making for an easy and surprisingly peaceful walk. 

Before housing spread across the western side of the city, this whole area was covered in sand dunes. Over the following 150 years, development destroyed much of the original habitat along with the wildlife that depended on it. A restoration project began in 1994 to bring the ecosystem back. The boardwalk itself was carefully designed to sit just high enough above the ground to avoid damaging the landscape, while gaps between the concrete slats allow air, water and sunlight to reach the plants below. It also provides shelter for some of the smaller animals that live underneath. 

I actually discovered this place through a guidebook I'd bought online from a local hiking company called Urban Hiker. The book contains fifty hikes around San Francisco and, although many weren't practical for us, it led us to several locations we could reach without too much difficulty. Better still, these places rarely appeared in the more mainstream guidebooks. Sometimes local knowledge is worth its weight in gold. 

Apparently coyotes are fairly common around here, although we didn't spot any. We did see a lizard about four or five inches long, along with countless dragonflies darting around the vegetation. Apart from one other walker, we had the entire trail to ourselves, which only added to the feeling that we'd stumbled across one of San Francisco's lesser-known corners.

Baker Beach  "The Bride, The Bridge And The Crows"

Just across the road from the trail entrance is Baker Beach, a beautiful stretch of sand with spectacular views across the bay to Marin County and, of course, the Golden Gate Bridge dominating the skyline to the east. 

I parked Jane up with a good view and headed off along the beach towards Battery Chamberlin, about half a mile further along the shoreline. Back in 1904 this area was still an active military installation, and one of the first disappearing gun emplacements was built here. The six-inch gun could fire two shells a minute at targets up to seven and a half miles out to sea. After firing, the gun would retract back into its concrete pit, hiding it from enemy ships and making it much harder to hit in return. 

Remarkably, the original gun is still here today and remains operational. Demonstrations are held on the first full weekend of each month, showing visitors exactly how the mechanism worked. There are only around a dozen of these disappearing guns left in working order anywhere in the world, making it quite a rare piece of military history. 

Several information boards around the battery explain both the technology and the history behind it, and we spent a while reading through them while taking plenty of photographs. After about half an hour I wandered a little further along the beach to capture a few more shots of the bridge from different angles before making my way back to where I'd left Jane. 

By the time I returned she appeared to be involved in some sort of tense standoff with a gang of local crows, who had clearly decided that a lone wheelchair user represented either a potential food source or a threat to their territory. Thankfully no actual hostilities broke out. 

We were just about to move on when I spotted something unexpected further down the beach. A woman was having wedding photographs taken with the Golden Gate Bridge rising behind her. As a photographer, there was no way I was going to ignore that. I couldn't resist taking a few shots of my own from a distance. 

It's not every day you stumble across a bridal photoshoot on a beach beneath one of the world's most famous landmarks, and it felt like one of those little unplanned moments that often end up being more memorable than the things you deliberately came to see.

Art At The End Of California Street

Next on the list was the Lincoln Park Steps. To get there we caught the number 29 bus and then changed onto a number 1. 

While we were waiting at the bus stop, a car pulled up alongside us and the driver announced that he was Uber and asked if we wanted a ride. Seeing as neither of us had ordered one, we politely declined. Being abducted wasn't on today's itinerary. 

The Lincoln Park Steps are a beautifully tiled mosaic staircase at the western end of California Street. From the top, you can look almost all the way down the road, a straight ribbon of asphalt stretching for around six miles towards the heart of the city. 

The staircase consists of 57 steps and cost around half a million dollars to complete, finally opening in 2015. Much of the fundraising, planning and organisation was carried out by local residents who had grown tired of seeing the old staircase slowly deteriorate year after year. Their efforts transformed an ordinary piece of city infrastructure into something people now travel across San Francisco to see. 

It's not the only mosaic staircase in the city, but that's part of what makes San Francisco such an interesting place. Even the most everyday features can become works of art if enough people care about them. 

Just around the corner was a CVS, so we stocked up on drinks and snacks to keep us going for the rest of the afternoon. From there we walked a couple of blocks before catching the 38R out towards Lands End. 

As the name suggests, you can't really go much further west on foot. Beyond here lies nothing but the Pacific Ocean. If you were determined enough to keep going, and your aim was reasonably accurate, your next stop would be somewhere in Japan or China a little over 5,000 miles away. The Pacific is a very big place indeed.

Lands End, The Edge of the Continent

The footpath from the car park wound its way out to the Eastern Coastal Overlook and, honestly, it was worth every step. 

Lands End really does live up to its name. Standing there, you genuinely feel as though you've reached the edge of something. The coastline is spectacularly rugged, with jagged cliffs dropping into churning water below. It was one of those views that makes you stop mid-stride and simply stare for a while. Which we did. More than once. 

Below us, waves crashed against the rocks in bursts of white foam, the Pacific Ocean doing its usual impression of something completely indifferent to human plans, schedules or opinions. 

From there I climbed a short flight of steps to the USS San Francisco Memorial, and the mood changed instantly. 

The memorial is built from actual sections of the ship's bridge — twisted, battle-scarred steel that has stood overlooking the Pacific since 1950. During the Naval Battle of Guadalcanal in November 1942, the cruiser endured 45 direct hits from Japanese warships. One hundred crewmen were killed, another 131 wounded, including the ship's captain. 

What makes the memorial so powerful is the steel itself. You can still see the shell holes punched clean through heavy-gauge metal as though it were little more than cardboard. It's a stark reminder that the events commemorated here were not scenes from a film or words in a history book, but something very real that happened to very real people. 

Standing there in the sunshine, with the Golden Gate Bridge visible in the distance and the Pacific stretching away beyond the horizon, it felt strangely peaceful. Yet at the same time, the damaged steel serves as a permanent reminder of just how brutal war can be. 

It seemed an appropriate place to pause for a few minutes and reflect before continuing our journey.

Ruins, Rubbish And Roller Coasters

We continued our journey with a stroll along the seafront, stopping for a coffee at the National Park Service café. Inside there's a wealth of information about the history of the area, particularly the ruins of the Sutro Baths. 

The baths were once a grand Victorian swimming complex and one of San Francisco's most popular attractions. In their heyday they boasted five heated pools, two seawater pools and even their own cliffside railway. This was where the city's rich and famous came to relax and be seen. 

 Unfortunately, the baths became increasingly expensive to maintain and eventually closed before being destroyed by fire during demolition work in the 1960s. 

The ruins can still be explored today, although getting down there involves a steep descent that wasn't practical for Jane. I could have gone down on my own, but having visited before I decided against it. While it's always fascinating to see what's left, I find it increasingly frustrating to see the amount of rubbish people leave behind. There are no bins at the bottom due to the steep hundred foot descent, but surely carrying an empty coffee cup or sandwich wrapper back up to the road isn't beyond the abilities of most visitors. 

From there we continued along the Great Highway, thankfully heading downhill rather than tackling one of San Francisco's more punishing slopes. Along the way we passed the site where Playland once stood. 

For decades it was San Francisco's answer to Coney Island — or Blackpool if you're from the UK. Roller coasters, arcades, fun houses, food stalls and the famous, slightly terrifying Laffing Sal animatronic drew huge crowds from across the Bay Area. From the 1920s through to the 1950s it was one of the city's most popular attractions and formed a core childhood memory for generations of San Franciscans. 

Playland officially closed on 4th September 1972 and was demolished later that same year to make way for housing near Ocean Beach. 

As we rolled past, I couldn't help wondering how many of the thousands of people who walk this route every week realise what once stood here. The roller coasters and laughter are long gone, replaced by houses and passing traffic, but if you know the history it's impossible not to picture what this stretch of coastline must have looked like on a busy summer afternoon half a century ago.

The Great Coleslaw Tragedy

By now it was starting to get late, so we carried on along the seafront before cutting inland to visit Safeway. This had become our favourite supermarket in the city. It seemed to sell just about everything you could possibly need and, unlike some places in San Francisco, the prices felt reasonably sensible. 

The only downside was that the aisles appeared to have been designed by someone who had never seen a shopping trolley, let alone a wheelchair. When the store was busy, navigating between the shelves could become an event in itself. 

We had been planning to pick up one of their rotisserie chickens for dinner, but disaster struck. They'd run out of coleslaw. 

Now, you can have chicken without coleslaw, technically speaking, but it just isn't right. Some things in life belong together. Fish and chips. Tea and biscuits. Chicken and coleslaw. Besides, part of me was looking forward to stinking out another bus on the journey back to the hotel. Instead, we settled for beer, snacks and a few other essentials before making the short walk to catch the 5R back towards Market Street. 

These newer 60-foot articulated trolleybuses seem even longer than the bendy buses back home. Powered by the overhead electric wires, they can accelerate with surprising enthusiasm, even on San Francisco's famously steep hills. They're also far more comfortable than they look and make for a pleasant ride across the city. 

About forty-five minutes later we arrived at Powell and Market. It was now around six o'clock, so we headed into Carl's Jr. for a chicken and bacon burger. 

This area sits right in the heart of one of the city's busiest tourist districts, but it seems to change personality as the evening approaches. The crowds thin out, the atmosphere shifts and the whole place somehow becomes more interesting. It almost feels as though the later you visit, the better it gets. 

One thing we've always tried to do when travelling is live as much like locals as possible. It helps you blend in, understand a place a little better and generally avoid drawing attention to yourself. 

What I hadn't realised, however, was that pushing a wheelchair apparently grants you instant local status. Throughout the trip people regularly stopped us to ask for directions, as though we had lived in San Francisco for years and were simply on our way home from the shops. 

Considering we'd spent most of the holiday trying not to look lost, I'd call that a success.

Reflections On The Day

Today's reflection feels less about the places we visited and more about the layers hidden beneath them. Again and again we found ourselves standing where something else once stood — ecosystems restored after being lost, grand attractions reduced to memories, battle scars preserved long after the fighting ended. It was a reminder that cities are never really static; they're constantly being rebuilt, reshaped and reimagined. 

What stayed with me most wasn't any single landmark, but the feeling that San Francisco rewards curiosity. Step away from the obvious attractions, follow a local recommendation, read the information board, take the side path, and suddenly the city reveals stories that most people walk straight past. By the end of the day, it felt a little less like we were visiting San Francisco and a little more like we were getting to know it.

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