A Complex Cunning Plan
I’d spent part of last night re-checking the bus routes for today’s plans, and it quickly became clear
that this was going to be a day defined almost entirely by public transport. A lot of buses. The sort
of day where you start to feel like you should be on first-name terms with the drivers. Still, the
routes were mapped, the bagel was eaten, and eventually we were ready to face whatever the Muni
system had in store for us.
Today was meant to be a full loop of the city, hopping between some of the best parks San
Francisco has to offer. When I say “parks,” I really mean landscaped gardens perched on the city’s
hills — the sort of places that make you feel like you’ve climbed halfway to the clouds without ever
leaving an urban street.
I’d spent a fair bit of time planning the bus routes for this little circuit, and on paper it all looked
beautifully simple: most services running every ten minutes or so, everything linking neatly
together. Of course, as we’ve learned, Muni timetables are more of a polite suggestion than a
promise. You can plan it to a certain extent using the real-time bus tracking on my phone, helped
along by the free Wi-Fi in many of the parks — a gift to the city from Google a few years back. It
used to work brilliantly, but these days it drops out more often than our Wi-Fi at home. Still, it’s
free, so there’s not much point complaining, and even less chance of anyone listening.
It’s funny how much we take the internet for granted now. One moment you’re navigating a
complex bus network with live updates, and the next you’re standing on a hill, waving your phone
around like you’re trying to summon a signal from the gods.
Treading Carefully In The Tenderloin
First stop was the main library, a grand old beast from the outside and absolutely vast once you’re
through the doors. The entrance drops you into a central atrium that opens out in every direction —
two floors down, three floors up, all crowned by a dome that makes you feel like you’ve wandered
into some civic cathedral dedicated to the worship of overdue books.
From there we headed across towards City Hall, though not without a bit of unwanted
entertainment. This part of town is the Tenderloin, famous — or infamous — for its concentration
of homeless people and those clearly battling their own demons. It’s not the safest neighbourhood at
the best of times, and today we got a bit of abuse from someone clearly having a moment. Nothing
serious, just one of those reminders that this city has a very sharp edge beneath the postcard views.
City Hall itself is only a short walk across the plaza, but getting inside is another matter. Like all
federal buildings you have to go through bag checks and metal detectors, and judging by the
number of people milling around in suits and dresses, there were a few weddings happening. It’s a
popular spot to get married or at least pose for the photos, and the queue looked like it would take a
while. With the sun out and the day warming up nicely, we decided to give it a miss and carry on
with our loop instead.
Painted Ladies Above The City
From City Hall we caught the number 21 bus out to Alamo Square, a place that always feels
strangely familiar even if you’ve never set foot there. So many films and TV shows have used this
hilltop as a backdrop that when you arrive, there’s a moment where your brain goes, Oh — I’ve
been here before, even though you haven’t. The park was in the final stages of a huge reconstruction
project, though the famously wet winter had pushed everything behind schedule. Only part of it was
open, but even from the limited sections you could see, the millions poured into the restoration were
going to be worth every cent once the fences finally came down.
Alamo Square has that rare quality of feeling both historic and alive at the same time. The
neighbourhood grew up in the late 1800s, when San Francisco was booming after the Gold Rush,
and wealthy residents built their ornate Victorian and Edwardian homes around the park. Bright
colours, intricate woodwork, decorative flourishes — the sort of houses that look like they were
designed by someone who never learned the meaning of the word “subtle.” Many of them survived
the 1906 earthquake and fire, which gives the whole area a sense of stubborn endurance, like it’s
quietly proud to have outlived so much of the old city.
We spent about an hour there, just sitting on the grass and soaking in the view. The Painted Ladies
lined up in front of us like a postcard, and beyond them the Financial District rose in the distance,
all glass and steel. It’s one of those scenes that sums up San Francisco perfectly — the old and the
new, the delicate and the imposing, all sharing the same skyline.
Originally, I’d planned for us to walk a couple of blocks downhill to Divisadero, but when we
reached the edge of the park and looked down, the street dropped away like a ski slope. One of
those classic San Francisco hills where you start to wonder whether you should tie yourself to a
lamppost for safety. We sensibly opted for the number 21 again, riding it just a couple of stops
before hopping off near a Popeyes.
We’d tried one of these in Chicago and weren’t impressed, but they’re franchises, so we figured
we’d give this one a chance. I’m glad we did — the chicken was fantastic. The neighbourhood
didn’t look like the sort of place you’d expect to find culinary joy, but it was absolutely worth it.
Some of the best fried chicken we’ve ever had, and all for under $18. A small victory for both the
stomach and the wallet.
Top Of The World
We crossed the road and hopped on the number 24 for the fifteen-minute ride up to Alta Plaza Park.
I’d originally planned for us to carry on one more block to see the Lyon Street Steps, but the
moment we looked up at that final monster of a hill, both of us silently agreed: absolutely not. We’d
already learned our lesson at Dolores Park — steep hills plus a wheelchair equals disaster waiting to
happen. And with no bus going right to the top, it would’ve meant climbing up only to retrace our
steps back down again. No thanks.
Alta Plaza sits high above the city, covering four square blocks and rising to around 400 feet above
sea level — easily one of the highest parks in San Francisco. This is Pacific Heights, where even the
“cheap” houses start at two million dollars, and the views alone feel like they should come with a
price tag. From up here you get sweeping vistas out toward the bay, the Bay Bridge peeking through
the haze, and Treasure Island sitting out in the water like a stubborn old relic.
It’s strange to stand somewhere so peaceful and imagine what it must have looked like in 1906,
when this hill became an emergency refuge camp after the earthquake and fire. Thousands of people
living in temporary shelters, looking down at a city they loved that had been reduced to rubble and
smoke. Standing there in the cold wind, it wasn’t hard to picture the mix of heartbreak and
resilience that must have filled this place.
Apart from a few dog walkers, we had the park almost entirely to ourselves — probably because the
wind was absolutely cutting at this height. There are plenty of facilities here: tennis courts, play
areas, picnic spots, even toilets. But the pavements are a nightmare. Most of them are uneven, and
the few smooth sections are so steep that rolling down them would’ve been like launching a
bobsled. So we zig-zagged our way through the park, taking the gentlest slopes we could find, and
eventually came out on a corner where we could start heading downhill.
We walked and rolled a couple of blocks to catch the Number 1 bus — and this is where I made my
mistake. Because they drive on the opposite side of the road to the UK, I got myself completely
turned around and put us on the bus going the wrong way. It happens to the best of us, even after
days of planning routes so we’d always be walking downhill when we got off. At least I realised
before we’d gone too far. We hopped off, crossed the road, and thankfully didn’t have to wait long
for the right one.
Lafayette Park And A Bus Lift
We reached Lafayette Park but had to give it a miss almost immediately. The path leading up was
far too steep, and while we could have taken a couple more buses to loop around the block and
approach from the top, it just wasn’t worth the time or the effort. Some hills you look at and think,
maybe. This one was a very firm nope.
The only other point of interest in the area was the Arthur Conan Doyle plaque, proudly claiming he
lived at 2151 Sacramento Street, right opposite the park, around 1923. Except… he probably didn’t.
He owned the property and had an office here, but there’s no solid proof he ever actually lived in
the building. One of those slightly dodgy claims to fame — the sort of thing a neighbourhood clings
to because it sounds good on a walking tour.
Next on the list was to get back on the Number 1 bus and head down Clay Street toward Taylor. The
buses on this route are ancient — easily twenty years old, maybe more — and the last of their kind
still rattling around the city. They all have three high steps to climb, and with no raised kerbs
anywhere along here, Jane had to use the concealed lift. It slides out from the top step, lowers to the
pavement, you climb on, grab the rails, and it hoists you up before tucking itself neatly back into the
bus. For something designed decades ago, it’s an impressive bit of engineering, and the fact it still
works flawlessly is nothing short of miraculous.
Pondering Life In A Park
Once we got off the bus, it was only a short walk around the corner to Huntington Park — and, for
once, a wonderfully flat block. After a day spent climbing San Francisco's hills, even the smallest
stretch of level ground felt like a luxury.
Perched high on Nob Hill, almost 400 feet above sea level, the park occupies some of the most
prestigious real estate in the city. In the late nineteenth century, San Francisco's wealthiest families
built grand mansions here, drawn by the commanding views across the bay. That world came to an
abrupt end after the 1906 earthquake and the devastating fires that followed, which raged for three
days and destroyed almost everything on the hill, including the original Grace Cathedral across the
road.
The park itself exists thanks to the widow of railroad magnate Collis P. Huntington, who donated
the land of their former mansion to the city in 1915. More than a century later, Nob Hill remains
one of San Francisco's most desirable neighbourhoods, yet surprisingly few visitors seem to make it
this far. Perhaps it's the steep climb, perhaps it's the cable car fare, or perhaps it's simply one of
those rare places that still feels like a local secret.
I'd visited Huntington Park on my own back in 2013, during what turned out to be one of the hottest
Christmas Days on record, and I'd always wanted to bring Jane here. One of the things I
remembered most were the hummingbirds. Anna's Hummingbirds live here year-round, tiny
emerald flashes darting between the trees and flowerbeds. They're easy to miss at first, but once
your eyes tune in to them, you begin spotting them everywhere.
The weather was much cooler this time, but the park still had the same peaceful charm I
remembered. Water trickled quietly from the fountains, cable cars rattled past on nearby California
Street, and the park seemed to be hosting an unofficial gathering of local dogs. Technically they're
not allowed, but judging by the number of wagging tails, flying tennis balls and owners deep in
conversation, enforcement appeared to be taking the day off.
We found a bench and simply sat for a while, watching the world go by. In a city that often feels
busy and energetic, Huntington Park has a way of slowing everything down. It wasn't the most
dramatic stop of the day, but it was easily one of the most relaxing.
Eventually we crossed the road to Grace Cathedral for a few photographs. Since my last visit,
someone had added what appeared to be an acrylic artwork across the front steps, designed to create
the illusion of clouds rising into the sky. From a distance I could appreciate the idea, but personally
it felt a little out of place against the cathedral's timeless stone architecture. Still, art is subjective,
and no doubt somebody thought it was the perfect addition.
Edge Of The Old City
We'd originally planned to visit the Cable Car Museum next, but by the time we got there it would
have been brushing up against closing time. Instead, we jumped back on the Number 1 bus and rode
down to Kearny Street, from where it was only a short walk to Portsmouth Square Plaza.
To be honest, Portsmouth Square isn't going to win any beauty contests. It's a rather tired-looking
patch of concrete surrounded by busy streets, and if you stumbled across it without knowing its
history, you'd probably wonder what all the fuss was about. Yet this unassuming square was once
the very heart of San Francisco.
Back in the 1850s, before the Financial District existed, this was effectively the city's waterfront.
It's hard to picture today, standing among the chess tables and concrete paving, but the shoreline of
Yerba Buena Cove once stretched right up to this spot. As the city expanded, the bay was gradually
filled in, creating the land where the skyscrapers now stand. If you know where to look, small
plaques set into the pavement mark the locations of ships that still lie buried beneath the streets.
Most of those vessels arrived during the Gold Rush. Their crews, lured by dreams of striking it rich,
often abandoned them as soon as they reached San Francisco. Some ships were converted into
warehouses, hotels and shops before eventually being swallowed by the growing city. Others were
deliberately sunk to help create new land. The remains of one can still be seen beneath the aptly
named Old Ship Inn, while one of the Muni subway tunnels reportedly passes straight through the
hull of another — though you'd never know it as the train rattles past.
There's something oddly fascinating about Portsmouth Square. On the surface it feels ordinary, even
a little neglected in places, yet beneath your feet are layers of San Francisco's earliest history. We
didn't linger for long, but it was enough to appreciate how dramatically the city has transformed.
Few places tell that story quite so literally as Portsmouth Square, where the past is quite literally
buried beneath the present.
Food & Free Wi-Fi
From Portsmouth Square we wandered over to the Crocker Galleria and grabbed something to eat
from Jimmy John’s, then made our way back to the hotel just in time for the six o’clock news. By
this point we were both pretty knackered, and Jane’s leg had been giving her trouble all day, so a
couple of things on the list had to be sacrificed. Even so, we were managing to see most of what we
set out to do each day, which feels like a small victory in itself.
The rest of the evening was spent doing exactly what tired travellers do best: collapsing in front of
the TV while half-heartedly poking at the laptop. The hotel internet could be painfully slow at times
— the sort of slow where you start to wonder if the signal is being relayed by carrier pigeon — and
it took ages to upload all the photos from the compact camera. But doing it daily seemed to help,
and we’d just leave the laptop running in the mornings so it could carry on doing its thing.
Our phones weren’t a problem at all; they’d start uploading the moment they sniffed out any free
Wi-Fi, whether it was in a café, a shop, a park, or anywhere along Market Street, which seems to be
one giant hotspot. A small mercy in a city where you spend half your time chasing buses and the
other half chasing a signal.
Refections On The Day
Today felt like a day of persistence. Not the dramatic kind, just the quiet determination that comes
from wanting to make the most of your time, even when your legs are tired, the hills seem steeper
than they should be, and the weather isn't entirely on your side. San Francisco has a habit of making
you work for everything, and today was no exception.
What I'll remember most aren't the historic buildings or the stories of buried ships beneath the
streets, but the quieter moments in between. Sitting in Huntington Park watching the world go by,
spotting hummingbirds darting through the trees, and finding little pockets of calm amidst the noise
and bustle of the city. Those brief pauses somehow felt more valuable than the landmarks
themselves.
Looking back, there's a simple satisfaction in days like this. Plans changed, distances felt longer
than expected, and nothing came particularly easily, but we kept going and discovered things we
might otherwise have missed. Sometimes that's what travel is really about — not ticking off
attractions, but sharing the experience together and finding enjoyment in whatever the day happens
to bring.
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