Aquatic Park

Today started with a ham, mushroom, and egg bagel while we enjoyed a lazy morning in the hotel. We'd been out late the night before, so the plan was to keep everything fairly local and avoid spending half the day bouncing around on buses.

Gravity Wins Again

What I hadn't realised was that we could have caught a bus near the hotel and then changed onto the Number 19, which runs along Polk Street. Still, you live and learn.

The plan had been simple enough: get off the Number 19 at Lombard Street and walk a couple of blocks uphill to what is often claimed to be the most crooked road in the world. This was always going to be the toughest part of the day because, no matter which direction you approach it from, this hill is steep. And when I say steep, I mean the sort of steep where you start wondering whether the road planners accidentally confused a street with a ski slope. Some of the parked cars look as though they're hanging on through sheer determination.

This wasn't our first attempt at getting there either. The previous time we'd tried to scale what felt like the south face of a city-centre mountain, we'd met exactly the same problem. Honestly, I think even a mountain goat would take one look at this hill, quietly mutter "not today," and turn around.

Even if you don't have any mobility issues, it's a challenging climb. It quickly became obvious that there was no way Jane was going to manage the two-block ascent. The only realistic alternative would have been taking the cable car, but the high steps make boarding difficult for her. I'm fairly sure we'd attempted this exact route on a previous trip with exactly the same outcome.

Still, I haven't given up hope of getting up here with Jane one day. The views from the top across downtown San Francisco are spectacular when the weather is clear, as it was today. We just need to be a bit smarter about it and approach from the eastern side next time rather than trying to tackle the hill head-on.

With the plan defeated by gravity once again, there wasn't much else to do except head back towards the bus stop where we'd got off. The Number 19 can be a little unpredictable when it comes to actually appearing, so we decided it would be quicker to walk the five or so blocks downhill to Ghirardelli Square instead.

Of course, downhill isn't always the easy option when you're pushing a wheelchair. Going up is hard work on the legs; going down is hard work on the arms, the brakes, and occasionally the nerves. San Francisco has a wonderful ability to turn even a simple downhill stroll into a team sport'

Free Samples & A Live Stream Fail

Never mind. There were plenty of other places to visit today, and reaching the top of Lombard Street would have added at least another couple of hours to the day. Instead, we continued down what remained of Polk Street and headed into Ghirardelli Square.

Today, it's a mixture of luxury shops, high-end restaurants, and eye-wateringly expensive apartments occupying the upper floors. But long before it became a destination for ice-cream sundaes and boutique shopping, it was a bustling industrial powerhouse.

Its story is a fascinating blend of Gold Rush ambition, chocolate-making innovation, and one of San Francisco's earliest historic preservation success stories.

Domingo Ghirardelli arrived in California in 1849 during the Gold Rush and quickly realised that selling supplies and sweets to miners was considerably more profitable than digging for gold himself. After opening a number of successful stores across Northern California, he founded the Ghirardelli Chocolate Company in San Francisco in 1852.

In 1893, the company purchased an entire city block near the northern waterfront. Over the following decades, a collection of handsome red-brick industrial buildings rose on the site, culminating in 1915 with the installation of the giant illuminated Ghirardelli sign that still dominates the skyline today.

By the 1960s, however, the factory operations had largely moved elsewhere, and many of the buildings stood partially vacant. Given the location, developers saw prime waterfront real estate and proposed demolishing the complex to make way for apartments. Thankfully, the site was purchased by the Roth family, who transformed it through one of the country's earliest large-scale adaptive reuse projects, preserving the historic buildings and giving them a new purpose.

It's hard to imagine now, wandering through the neat courtyards and cafés, that this was once a working chocolate factory producing thousands of pounds of chocolate every day.

There are still two Ghirardelli retail stores within the square, which is spread across two split levels. Better yet, there always seems to be somebody standing at the entrance handing out free chocolate samples.

Naturally, we visited both shops and collected a sample from each.

Then we needed to use the lift in the first shop to get down to the lower level, which meant walking back through the entrance and, rather inconveniently, being offered another free sample. I suggested to Jane that we'd missed a trick by not bringing disguises. You can just picture it: fake moustaches, oversized glasses, perhaps a suspiciously obvious wig. "No, sorry, you've mistaken us for somebody else. I am clearly not the same person who was here thirty seconds ago collecting free chocolate." I'm sure nobody would have suspected a thing.

The square also has free Wi-Fi, which seemed like the perfect opportunity to experiment with Facebook Live. This turned out to be considerably less exciting than I'd imagined because the only person watching was Jane, who was sitting right next to me.

What made it even stranger was the delay. Despite being connected to exactly the same Wi-Fi network, what appeared on Jane's phone lagged behind what I was actually saying. Once the audio started feeding back into itself, the whole thing descended into technological chaos until she finally muted her phone. Even then, she remained my entire audience.

Still, it was fun to try. I probably won't use Facebook Live very often, but I like understanding how these things work. Besides, it seemed wise to stop before we accidentally crossed the live streams and opened some sort of internet-based portal to another dimension. The Ghostbusters warned us about that sort of thing.

Remains Of The Past & Tense Situation

We left Ghirardelli Square via the lower level, which brings you straight out into the Aquatic Park area. The weather was far too nice to rush anywhere, so I parked Jane in a sunny spot overlooking the water while I took a stroll along Municipal Pier. The surface along here isn’t exactly wheelchair friendly.

The pier curves gently out into the bay and offers some wonderful views back towards the city. It's also one of those places where San Francisco's history feels surprisingly close. This was once part of the city's busy maritime and fishing district before being transformed into a fashionable swimming destination during the 1930s. Back then, Aquatic Park was home to a grand Art Deco bathhouse and attracted swimmers from across the city.

If you look carefully, you can still spot traces of that past. The old tram tracks remain embedded in places, reminders of the streetcars that once ran along the waterfront and through the tunnel towards Crissy Field.

That tunnel is now permanently gated off. From what I've read, the closure was largely due to problems with people camping inside and the constant maintenance issues that followed. It's a shame, really, because it would provide a useful shortcut for anyone wanting to avoid the substantial hill between Aquatic Park and Fort Mason. Unfortunately, some places reach the point where keeping them clean, safe, and accessible becomes an ongoing battle.

The area is also home to several historic ships, their masts and rigging standing out against the skyline. We didn't venture aboard any of them today, but they're fascinating to look at from the shore. Every now and then, a sea lion would pop up in the water and perform a few acrobatic manoeuvres before disappearing beneath the surface again, seemingly determined to entertain anyone willing to watch.

From there, we wandered over to Hyde Street Pier with a slightly unusual mission.

For months before the trip, we'd been watching one of the EarthCam live streams from San Francisco on the tablet back home. It had become one of those little routines that makes you feel connected to a place you're looking forward to visiting. Naturally, once we were actually here, we wanted to find out exactly where the camera was mounted.

And we found it.

The camera sits on top of a two-storey building mounted on a pole, quietly broadcasting San Francisco to living rooms all over the world. It felt oddly satisfying finally seeing it in person. From that vantage point, the camera captures fantastic views across the bay towards Alcatraz, over Fisherman's Wharf, and all the way to the Bay Bridge.

It's funny how something so ordinary can become familiar. Watching that camera feed at home always gave us a little glimpse of San Francisco whenever we felt like escaping for a few minutes. Just across the road sits the San Francisco Maritime National Historical Park and Museum, which tells the story of the city's maritime heritage and how San Francisco grew from a small settlement into one of the most important ports on the west coast.

Much of this waterfront stands on reclaimed land, created from the debris left behind by the 1906 earthquake and subsequent rebuilding efforts. Over time, it developed into the city's main fishing port. While most of the commercial fishing fleet has long since disappeared, the area remains closely associated with seafood. Fresh crab stalls, fish markets, and seafood restaurants line much of the waterfront.

As two people who aren't particularly enthusiastic about seafood, however, the smell alone was enough to keep us moving.

We continued into Fisherman's Wharf before taking a look around The Cannery. Once an enormous industrial complex producing canned goods, it's now home to restaurants, cafés, and shops. Like many former industrial buildings in San Francisco, it's been transformed into something considerably more upmarket than its original purpose ever suggested.

Unfortunately, this was also the point where we encountered one of the more unpleasant aspects of the tourist areas.

A man started trying to sell us CDs and simply refused to take no for an answer. At first it was merely annoying, but he became increasingly persistent and noticeably more aggressive the longer we ignored him.

In situations like this, we've learned that the best approach is usually to avoid engaging altogether. Most eventually lose interest and move on once they realise you're not buying whatever they're selling.

This one, however, seemed determined to hang around.

For a few uncomfortable minutes, I genuinely wondered whether the situation was about to escalate into something more serious. Thankfully, just as suddenly as he'd appeared, he lost interest and wandered off in search of somebody else to bother.

It was a good reminder that even in places as beautiful as San Francisco, not every encounter becomes a happy travel story.

Retro Games, Quarters & Curiosity

From there we continued past the endless rows of tourist shops and headed for the Musée Mécanique, one of my favourite places on the waterfront.

The museum houses arcade and amusement machines spanning more than a hundred years, and remarkably, most of them still work. You can actually play the exhibits rather than just look at them, which immediately makes it far more interesting than the average museum. They even have a two player Pac-Man machine, and the attendants glide around on roller skates, which somehow feels perfectly in keeping with the place.

The atmosphere inside is loud, nostalgic, and wonderfully chaotic. Rather than rows of exhibits sitting silently behind glass, everything here is alive. The air is filled with the sounds of player pianos, clanging metal, mechanical laughter, bells ringing, and the constant whirring and clicking of century-old gears. It feels less like a museum and more like stepping into an old seaside amusement arcade from another era.

Housed inside a large warehouse-like building on Pier 45, the collection exists largely because one family spent decades preserving these machines. From what I understand, the collection was passed down from father to son, and the philosophy was always that these machines were built to be played, not locked away behind barriers.

Keeping a place like this running can't be easy. The building itself needs maintaining, staff need paying, and many of the machines require constant restoration and repair. Yet much of that is funded by the steady stream of quarters people feed into the games every day. Every coin dropped into a machine helps keep another little piece of history alive.

They even have a large red button on the wall with a sign that clearly says, "Do Not Push."

Naturally, you have to push it.

As it turns out, the button doesn't launch missiles, trigger alarms, or unleash mechanical chaos. It simply adds one more number to a counter showing how many people have ignored the instruction not to press it.

Human curiosity remains undefeated.

By this point it was feeding time, so we stopped at McDonald's for a quick bite to eat before crossing the road to buy a coat I'd spotted on Pier 39 a few days earlier.

This was exactly the sort of coat I'd been looking for back home but had never quite managed to find. At $28, which worked out at roughly £20, it seemed like a bargain. Better still, it had "San Francisco" embroidered across it, making it both practical and an acceptable holiday souvenir.

What amused me most was that, as soon as I'd bought it, I suddenly noticed dozens of other people wearing exactly the same coat.

Clearly, I wasn't the first tourist to arrive dressed for a warm California afternoon only to discover the reality of San Francisco's weather.

Some of them had probably been caught out by Karl making one of his surprise appearances. Others had likely fallen victim to the city's unique ability to be sunny, windy, cold, and warm all at exactly the same time.

Whatever the reason, there seemed to be an unofficial club of people who had underestimated San Francisco and ended up buying emergency outerwear.

Membership apparently cost $28.

With that important purchase completed, we crossed back over the road and caught an F-Line streetcar back towards Market Street.

E not F to Market Street

Travelling back towards Market Street is never one of our favourite San Francisco experiences. The historic streetcars are great to look at, but once they're packed solid with tourists, the novelty wears off fairly quickly.

Thankfully, they had recently introduced the E Line, which runs along the Embarcadero but doesn't continue up Market Street like the F Line. The idea is simple enough and works rather well, at least in theory.

Unfortunately, a surprising number of people seemed unable to grasp the fact that an E tram is not an F tram.

The driver would patiently explain where the tram was going. Then explain it again. Then again. By about the seventh explanation, it would finally dawn on somebody that they were on the wrong tram. At which point they would stand directly in the doorway looking confused while everyone else tried to board.

In the end, we simply pushed our way through the crowd to get on.

Our plan was to use the lightly loaded E Line to reach the Ferry Building, walk across the plaza where many of the bus routes begin, and then catch a bus up Market Street. Compared to squeezing onto a packed F Line tram, it seemed a much more civilised option.

As it turned out, it worked perfectly.

The driver was also incredibly helpful. We waited at the raised platform, he then get out and deploy what looked remarkably like a miniature drawbridge so Jane could board and leave the tram. The system is actually quite clever. Because the historic streetcars were built in different countries, in different decades, and to completely different designs, there isn't a single platform height that works for all of them. Think of the variety of old trams you might see in Blackpool and then imagine trying to make one platform fit every single model.

Instead, each tram carries its own specially designed boarding bridge. Stored in a cupboard onboard, it folds out across the gap between the tram and the platform, creating an accessible route for wheelchairs and mobility scooters.

The only downside was that once the bridge was in place, the effective height of the doorway dropped to somewhere around four feet. This meant I had to perform an awkward crouching manoeuvre when I got on or off while pushing the wheelchair.

It probably looked like I was attempting some sort of tram-related limbo competition.

Still, for a fleet of historic vehicles operating a modern public transport service, it's an impressively practical solution. I certainly couldn't think of a better way to make trams built decades apart accessible to everyone.

While waiting at one stop, we could see the next F Line streetcar approaching behind us. Out of curiosity, we watched it pull in. It was absolutely packed.

People were standing shoulder to shoulder, pressed against windows and doorways like tourists in a tin can. The whole point of introducing the E Line was to relieve some of that pressure and spread passengers between the two routes.

The irony was that once the F Line reached the start of Market Street, a large proportion of those passengers would probably get off anyway.

Meanwhile, we had been sitting comfortably on a relatively empty tram, feeling rather pleased with ourselves for having discovered what was possibly San Francisco's best-kept public transport secret.

Subs & Cupcakes

As luck would have it, and with a little assistance from the internet, there was a Number 9 bus due to leave in about five minutes. We jumped aboard and headed up to Kearny Street before making our way into Crocker Galleria for some more Jimmy John's subs to take back to the hotel.

These were quickly consumed alongside a well-earned beer, because after a day of battling hills, crowds, and public transport, it would have been rude not to.

By now it was around five o'clock, so we spent a relaxing hour or so back at the hotel before heading out again at about 6:30.

The evening was pleasantly warm as we wandered through Union Square towards the Giants Dugout Store, about a fifteen-minute walk from the hotel. Even though the Giants were having another less-than-stellar season, we still wanted to pick up a few bits of merchandise while we were in town.

Unfortunately, this branch is fairly small and carries only a limited range compared to the enormous store at the ballpark. After a good look around, we struck out and failed to find what we were looking for.

Still, it wasn't a wasted trip. Just a block away on O'Farrell Street is Cako, home to what may well be the best cupcakes I've ever eaten. They're not cheap either. At $3.50 each, plus tax, they're firmly in the "this had better be worth it" category. Thankfully, they absolutely are. The cakes are ridiculously rich, and almost impossible to eat gracefully.

Our arteries probably had a very different opinion on the matter, but fortunately they were off duty from the decision-making process. The only logical conclusion is that anything tasting this good must contain at least a billion calories. Either way, it was delicious and therefore completely justified.

A Cunning Plan

By this point Jane's leg was starting to hurt, so it was time to put my newly acquired public transport expertise to good use. I had a plan. A cunning plan.

Outside Cako, the Number 38 bus stops. Now, it doesn't go anywhere near our hotel, which might seem like a flaw in the plan, but bear with me.

The idea was to ride the Number 38 for two stops until it reached the end of its one-way loop. We would then cross the road, catch the Number 30, ride that for two stops around a different one-way loop, and end up just around the corner from the hotel.

Reading that back, I'm not entirely sure it makes sense. In fact, if somebody had explained it to me like that, I would probably have nodded politely while understanding absolutely none of it. What matters is that it worked.

Whether this was the result of me becoming some sort of San Francisco transport guru or simply getting spectacularly lucky remains open to debate.

Either way, Jane didn't have to walk back, and that's what counted.

Back at the hotel, I settled down with a beer safely stored in my thermal flask, although I knew I'd need to venture out later to replenish supplies. It's important to stay hydrated when travelling. Or at least that's the excuse I was using.

Refections On The Day

Today was a reminder that not every successful day has to go exactly to plan. San Francisco's hills once again proved that they don't really care what you've got written in your itinerary, but rather than feeling frustrated, it felt easier to adapt and enjoy wherever the day happened to take us.

What struck me most was how familiar the city was starting to feel. The transport routes that seemed complicated a few days ago were beginning to make sense, and places we'd only ever seen on webcams or maps now felt like part of our own San Francisco story. The city was slowly becoming less of a destination and more of a temporary home.

The best memories weren't the big attractions either. They were the small moments: free chocolate samples, a sunny spot by the bay, an unnecessarily complicated bus journey that somehow worked, and a cupcake that probably shortened my life expectancy by a few minutes.

Tomorrow will be louder and busier with the Cinco de Mayo celebrations, but today was a good reminder that sometimes the simplest days are the ones you enjoy the most.

⇧

Presidio, a history day

Karl the Fog clearly fancied an outing today.

The temperature had dropped, the sky had taken on that soft grey San Francisco glow, and every now and then Karl drifted in like a bored cat deciding whether or not to sit on your lap. Someone, at some point, thought it would be a good idea to give the city's fog a name — and because this is San Francisco, the idea stuck. Karl even has his own Twitter account, because apparently the fog has a more active social life than most people.

The Presidio

We set off a little later than usual, around 9 a.m., partly because I'd had to reshuffle the day's plans after discovering that Fort Point only opens from Friday to Sunday. Whether the opening times had changed since I planned the trip or I'd simply got myself muddled is open to debate. Both are entirely possible. As it turned out, the change worked in our favour.

I like The Pait Work

Just down the road from the hotel, we caught the free PresidiGo shuttle, which takes a less-travelled route out of the city. It only makes a handful of stops before reaching the Presidio, and within a few minutes the skyscrapers and traffic begin to give way to trees, open spaces, and some of the best views in San Francisco.

The Presidio has had a long and varied history. For more than two centuries it served as a military post under the Spanish, then the Mexicans, and finally the United States Army. Military operations officially ended in 1994, bringing 219 years of service to a close, and the area became part of the Golden Gate National Recreation Area. Today it's an enormous park criss-crossed by miles of walking trails, woodlands, historic buildings, and viewpoints. You can walk all the way to Lands End and the Pacific Ocean if you're feeling energetic.

There are even coyotes living here. Apparently they're usually quite shy. Still, I couldn't help wondering how fast Jane could wheel if one suddenly decided otherwise.

One of the best things about the Presidio is its position high above the bay. Almost everywhere you look there's another spectacular view waiting for you. The Golden Gate Bridge stretches across the water, Alcatraz sits out in the bay, Angel Island rises behind it, and beyond that lie the hills of Marin County, along with places like Sausalito and Tiburon. On a clear day the views are magnificent. Today, however, Karl had other ideas.

One minute the tops of the Golden Gate Bridge towers were disappearing into the fog, and the next the bridge deck itself had vanished while the towers poked through the cloud like giant red fingers pointing into the sky. The scene seemed to change every few minutes, making it impossible to stop looking. Sometimes San Francisco's best views aren't the ones you can see clearly.

Yo, Yoda!

Yoda And I

Our first stop in the Presidio was the Yoda Fountain, tucked away just outside the Lucasfilm offices at the Letterman Digital Arts Center. It's a surprisingly peaceful little courtyard, with trees, benches, and the gentle sound of water surrounding a bronze Yoda perched on top of a plinth as though he's about to dispense some cryptic piece of life advice. Given that it was May the 4th — as in May the Force be with you — it felt only right to pay a visit.

Yoda Will reveal All

The fountain had also become an unofficial memorial to Carrie Fisher following her death a few months earlier. By the time we arrived, most of the flowers, cards, and tributes had disappeared, but there were still a few reminders left behind. It was nice to see that people hadn't forgotten her.

Even though I've never properly watched the Star Wars films — beyond catching the odd scene on television and watching the Family Guy spoof — I still appreciated the significance of the place. There are so many films, spin-offs, sequels, prequels, and assorted Skywalkers these days that I honestly wouldn't have a clue who was related to whom. I'd need a flowchart.

My Hero

Just behind the fountain is the Lucasfilm lobby, which doubles as a small museum showcasing original costumes, props, and memorabilia from the films. Best of all, it's completely free to wander around. You only really need twenty minutes or so, although most people seem to spend that time photographing absolutely everything in sight. Stormtroopers, droids, lightsabers, Jedi robes — it's all there, quietly guarded by a receptionist who has almost certainly witnessed every Star Wars pose known to humanity.

Even for someone who isn't a huge fan, it's a fun little stop. And on May the 4th, it felt like exactly the right place to begin the day.

Military Marvels & Tea

Inside The Visitors Centre

From the Yoda Fountain, we carried on uphill, walking the half-mile to the newly opened Presidio Visitors Centre. It's a bright, modern space filled with interactive displays explaining the area's military history, wildlife, and the huge restoration projects that have transformed the Presidio over the years. One exhibit focused on the return of coyotes to the park. Apparently, the reintroduction programme has been so successful that there are now around fourteen breeding pairs living here, with sightings reported as far away as Telegraph Hill. Wildlife, it seems, has very little interest in respecting the boundaries humans draw on maps.

It was fascinating stuff, although my own wildlife survival strategy remained unchanged: Make sure I can outrun Jane

The Presidio Cover A Large Area

The Visitors Centre overlooks what was once the main parade ground, and many of the old officers' houses surrounding it have been transformed into very desirable homes. Their immaculate porches and spectacular bay views probably don't come cheap. From up here, the scenery stretches for miles, with the colours shifting between blue and grey depending entirely on Karl the Fog's mood that morning.

What really caught my eye, though, were the old coastal defence batteries scattered across the hillside below. Half-hidden amongst the trees and scrub, they looked exactly like the sort of place that sparks the imagination. They're not officially accessible, but judging by the amount of graffiti visible from a distance, plenty of people have found ways to explore them anyway.

It's exactly the kind of place I'd love to investigate — crumbling concrete, rusting metal, and layers of forgotten history slowly being reclaimed by nature. Sadly, this was very much a look-but-don't touch situation.

Just below the Presidio runs Highway 101, the road that carries traffic across the Golden Gate Bridge. For decades, this section cut a physical barrier through the landscape, but following a major redevelopment completed in 2015, much of the road now disappears into two enormous concrete tunnels designed to withstand future earthquakes.

First Time Seeing A Bluebird

The long-term plan is even more ambitious. The tops of the tunnels are being transformed into parkland, reconnecting areas that had been separated for more than eighty years. When complete, visitors will be able to walk seamlessly from the Presidio down to Crissy Field without ever feeling as though they're crossing one of the busiest roads on the West Coast.

The project includes new picnic areas, nature reserves, walking paths, and even a tidal pond. They also managed to preserve the old pet cemetery, which now sits beneath a section of highway supported on stilts — a wonderfully San Franciscan compromise between progress and sentimentality.

By this point we'd earned a break, so we headed for the Transit Café for a well-deserved drink. The café itself wasn't long for this world and was due to be demolished as part of the ongoing redevelopment, but it was still doing a brisk trade when we arrived. And yes, before you ask, there was cake. I'm fairly certain it would have been rude not to.

Coins & Colma

Korean War Memorial

After finishing our coffee at the café, we made our way over to the San Francisco National Cemetery, a place I'd only ever seen in films before.

It sits on a quiet hillside overlooking the bay, and even before you pass through the gates you can feel the atmosphere change. The noise of the city fades away, replaced by an almost unsettling stillness. Nothing really prepares you for the scale of it. Row upon row of white headstones stretch across the hillside in perfect lines, disappearing into the distance. Each one represents a life, a family, a story. Standing there amongst them, "a sombre experience" barely begins to describe it.

Just Some Of The Graves

One thing that particularly caught my attention was the coins resting on some of the graves. I'd never come across the tradition before. One of the displays explained that each coin carries a meaning. A penny signifies a visit, while a quarter traditionally means the person leaving it was there when that individual died. It's such a small gesture, yet somehow incredibly powerful.

Standing in the sunshine, looking at a single coin resting on a headstone, made the reality of it all feel much closer. Beyond the cemetery, the bay sparkled peacefully beneath a blue-grey sky, but here the cost of history felt impossible to ignore. Perhaps that's what struck me most: the contrast. All around was beauty, tranquillity, and spectacular scenery. Yet beneath every stone lay a reminder of what had been sacrificed to make moments like this possible.

The visit also led us down an unexpected rabbit hole into San Francisco's unusual relationship with its dead. Unlike most cities, San Francisco removed almost all of its cemeteries during the early twentieth century. As the city expanded, thousands of graves were relocated south to the town of Colma, which today contains around one and a half million burials.

Looking Out To Alcatraz
 From The Cemetary

When I looked at Colma on a satellite map while planning the trip, I genuinely couldn't believe the size of it. The cemetery stretched across the landscape. The town is often nicknamed the "City of the Dead," and with the dead outnumbering the living by roughly a thousand to one, it's not hard to see why.

Within San Francisco itself, only a handful of burial sites remain. There's the small graveyard at Mission Dolores, the pet cemetery hidden beneath the Presidio highway project, and the Columbarium — a beautiful Victorian rotunda containing around 30,000 sets of remains housed within thousands of decorative niches. I'd already seen photographs of the Columbarium while planning the trip, and it looked fascinating. Harvey Milk's memorial niche is there, along with countless others decorated with photographs, ornaments, and personal mementoes left behind by families.

We'd already pencilled it into the day's plans. Most tourists probably don't spend their holidays visiting cemeteries, but then again, we've never been particularly good at sticking to the standard itinerary.

Firefighters, Fire Engines & The Great Quake

From the cemetery, we made our way back to the Transit Café, where seemingly every bus in San Francisco eventually turns up, and caught the Number 43 to California Street for the San Francisco Fire Department Museum.

This was somewhere we'd been trying to visit for years. The museum is only open from 1 p.m. until 4 p.m., Thursday to Sunday, and because it's staffed entirely by volunteer firefighters, there's always a chance it might not open at all if something more important requires their attention. The official advice is to phone ahead.

We didn't. Instead, we took the traditional traveller's approach of turning up and hoping for the best. Fortunately, nowhere appeared to be on fire that afternoon.

Fire Truck From The '30s

The museum sits right next door to an active fire station, making it fairly easy to find. Inside, it's not especially large, but what it lacks in size it makes up for in character. The collection traces the history of firefighting in San Francisco, from horse-drawn fire engines and steam-powered pumps through to the city's first motorised fire appliances.

One of the volunteers kindly offered us a guided tour, but we're both wanderers rather than tour followers. We like reading things at our own pace, lingering over the bits that interest us and quietly skipping over anything that doesn't.

What really stayed with me was the story of the 1906 earthquake and the devastating fires that followed.

A Nozzel from 1906

Most people remember the earthquake, but it was the fires that caused much of the destruction. Around 500 city blocks were lost, and the biggest challenge facing firefighters wasn't the flames themselves — it was the complete lack of water. The earthquake had ruptured most of the city's water mains, leaving crews with little or nothing to fight the fires with.

One small exception became legendary.

The Golden Fire Hydrant was one of the few hydrants that continued to function during the disaster, helping firefighters save part of the Mission District. To this day, an annual ceremony is still held there to commemorate its role in the city's survival.

We also learned about Lotta's Fountain on Market Street, which became a gathering point after the earthquake. People pinned messages there in the hope of finding missing relatives and friends amidst the chaos. It's one thing reading statistics; it's another imagining thousands of frightened people desperately searching for loved ones.

The disaster changed San Francisco forever.

A large reservoir was constructed near Twin Peaks, and an extensive network of emergency cisterns was installed beneath the city's streets. Many of them remain in use today, hidden beneath brick circles set into road junctions across the city. Most people walk or drive straight past them without a second thought, unaware they're standing above thousands of gallons of emergency water. It's a quiet reminder that San Francisco learned its lessons the hard way.

No one knows exactly how many people died in the earthquake and the fires that followed, but estimates are generally around three thousand. Standing amongst the old fire engines and equipment, it's difficult to fully comprehend the scale of what the city endured.

Some Of The Earliest Equipment

The museum itself only takes about an hour to explore, but it's well worth the visit. Entry is free, although they suggest a five-dollar donation. Given that the museum is run by volunteers, many of whom are active or retired firefighters giving up their own time, it felt like money well spent. We each put some money in the donation box and bought a ten-dollar badge for good measure.

In the entire time we were there, we were the only visitors.

That gave us the chance to chat with the two firefighters behind the desk, who were more than happy to answer questions and share stories. It made the experience feel much more personal than simply reading information boards.

It's a shame more people don't find their way here. But then again, most visitors are busy queueing for the city's headline attractions while little gems like this quietly wait around the corner.

Their loss, really.

No Show Bus

From the Firefighters Museum, it was only a short walk up the road to the next bus stop, where we planned to catch a bus out to the San Francisco Columbarium.

I'd been looking forward to this one. The Columbarium is a beautifully restored Victorian building dating from 1897 and houses the remains of thousands of people. It's one of those unusual places that most tourists never visit, which naturally made it far more appealing to us.

Unfortunately, the bus had other ideas.

We waited.

And waited.

And then waited a bit more.

After twenty minutes, the only buses that appeared were express services that weren't any use to us whatsoever. There was no real-time information screen at the stop, no internet connection on the phone, and the clock was ticking steadily towards closing time. The Columbarium shuts at four o'clock, and with every passing minute it was becoming increasingly obvious that we weren't going to make it.

Reluctantly, we admitted defeat.

It was a shame because we'd both wanted to see it, but travel plans have a habit of unravelling occasionally. Sometimes the deciding factor isn't a major disaster or a cancelled flight — it's simply a bus that never arrives.

Fortunately, we already had plans for the evening, so we crossed the road and caught the Number 38 back towards the city centre.

The revised plan was straightforward: head to Jimmy John's in the Crocker Galleria, grab one of their excellent sandwiches, then retreat to the hotel for a well-earned rest before heading back out later. Without a break, this was shaping up to be a very long day.

A Vast Range Of Food

The Crocker Galleria sits in the heart of the Financial District and is one of those places that's easy to miss unless you know it's there. Inside is a collection of cafés, bakeries, sandwich shops, and restaurants serving just about every type of food imaginable. There's even a rooftop terrace where office workers escape with their lunches on sunny days.

On a previous visit we'd made the mistake of arriving at lunchtime.

Never again.

An amazing Roof

The place had been packed shoulder-to-shoulder with hungry office workers, all attempting to buy food at exactly the same moment. It felt less like a shopping arcade and more like an evacuation drill.

This time, however, it was blissfully quiet.

Most of the shops were already closing, and the crowds had long since disappeared. Without hundreds of people rushing around, you can actually appreciate the building itself: the elegant ironwork, the glass-vaulted roof overhead, and the way the afternoon light filters through the atrium. It felt like an entirely different place.

By the time we finished our sandwiches and left, it was around half past four, leaving us with only a short walk back to the hotel.

Once inside, we demolished the food, collapsed onto the bed, and treated ourselves to an hour's nap. After the day we'd had, it felt less like a luxury and more like a medical necessity.

May the 4th (And Drink) Be With You

The Entertainment Started Outside

Around half past five, we set off once again and caught the F-Line streetcar for the fifteen-minute ride to the Exploratorium. We'd deliberately planned this for a Thursday evening because it's the only night of the week when the museum opens exclusively for adults. As luck would have it, we'd also timed our visit perfectly for May the 4th.

The Exploratorium is one of those places that's impossible not to enjoy. It's a huge hands-on science museum packed with interactive exhibits designed to explain everything from light and sound to human perception and engineering. It's also exactly the sort of place that is normally full of excited children enthusiastically pressing every button they can find.

If there's an opportunity to experience somewhere without hundreds of screaming kids running around, we'll usually take it.

Thankfully, tonight we could.

Look Who I Met

The adults-only evenings run from six until ten and cost just fifteen dollars each, roughly half the normal admission price. Throw in a Star Wars theme night, fancy dress costumes, live music, and an R2-D2 unit wandering around getting under people's feet, and it was already looking like one of the highlights of the trip.

Before we even made it through the doors, we found ourselves watching a band performing outside dressed as various Star Wars characters. Quite who some of them were supposed to be was beyond me, but we recognised enough of the music to stand there grinning like a pair of idiots for several minutes. They were genuinely good fun and set the tone for the evening perfectly.

The Band Inside Were Popular

We'd heard that Americans take May the 4th seriously.

We were not prepared for quite how seriously.

By the time we got inside, the place was already buzzing. Lights flashed, music played, and people wandered between exhibits carrying drinks from the bars scattered throughout the museum. Many appeared to have made an enthusiastic start to the evening before going in at local bars outside.

Optical Illusion

There is a very specific type of chaos that occurs when slightly over-refreshed adults are given unrestricted access to a building full of hands-on science experiments. Honestly, it's magnificent.

Seeing someone attempt the simplest task while half-cut is entertainment in itself. Getting a slinky to travel up an inclined conveyor belt by controlling the speed isn’t exactly straightforward when you’re sober — never mind three drinks in. Not that we were messing about on purpose. Absolutely not. Perish the thought.

Not that we spent an unreasonable amount of time laughing at people, of course.

The exhibits themselves were excellent. Everything is designed to be touched, tested, spun, pushed, pulled, and generally experimented with. The museum covers sight, sound, motion, perception, and dozens of other scientific oddities, all presented in a way that's clever without ever becoming overly serious.

As the evening wore on, we wandered out onto the waterfront exhibits where the views across the bay were spectacular. The sun was beginning to set, the water reflected the fading light, and for a few minutes the city looked absolutely perfect.

Here Comes karl

Then Karl the Fog arrived.

One moment the evening was mild and pleasant; the next, a wall of fog rolled across the bay and the temperature dropped like someone had opened a giant refrigerator door.

San Francisco never misses an opportunity to remind visitors who's really in charge.

After a few minutes outside, we retreated back into the warmth of the museum and caught more of the band. They were playing the sort of relentlessly catchy tunes that burrow into your brain and refuse to leave.

You know the type.

The songs that seem harmless at the time but then reappear in your head at three o'clock in the morning for no apparent reason.

I strongly suspect we would both still be humming them several days later.

Two Sides Of The City

A Lovely Evening

We left the Exploratorium at around half past nine and, as is tradition — and frankly, probably a legal requirement — spent a little time wandering around the gift shop before finally making our way outside.

From there, we strolled along the Embarcadero towards the Ferry Building. Karl the Fog had drifted off to bother somebody else by this point, leaving behind one of those warm, still San Francisco evenings that feel almost unfairly pleasant. The bay was calm, the lights shimmered on the water, and for a while it was just the two of us wandering along the waterfront without a care in the world.

Nothing dramatic.

Nothing complicated.

Just one of those simple moments that somehow becomes a lasting memory.

The Bay Bridge All Lit Up

It's strange to think that until relatively recently this entire stretch of waterfront sat beneath an elevated two-tier freeway. Where the F-Line streetcars trundle along today, there was once a concrete wall separating the city from the bay. The Embarcadero Freeway connected to the Bay Bridge and was supposed to continue all the way towards Highway 101 and the Golden Gate Bridge, but the project was never completed and simply stopped near Fisherman's Wharf.

Then came the 1989 earthquake.

Sections of a similar structure in Oakland collapsed, killing dozens of people, and the damaged Embarcadero Freeway was eventually demolished. In doing so, San Francisco gained something far more valuable than a road — it got its waterfront back.

Today it's difficult to imagine the area any other way.

The views of the Ferry Building, the palm-lined promenade, the historic streetcars and the crowds of people enjoying the bay all feel completely natural, as though they've always been here. From the Ferry Plaza we headed up onto Market Street and caught a bus to Walgreens to grab something for supper. By now it was approaching half past ten and we were both running on fumes, but the hotel wasn't really far enough away to justify waiting for another bus.

Even if the walk was uphill.

So we walked.

San Francisco changes character after dark.

The version you see during the day — cable cars, waterfront views and colourful Victorian houses — is still there, but at night you notice other things too. People sleeping in doorways. Tents tucked into corners. People stretched out on the pavement trying to get some rest wherever they can.

It's something that's impossible to ignore.

We like travelling in a way that lets us experience places as they really are, not just the polished postcard version, and this is part of modern San Francisco too.

The city spends huge sums trying to tackle homelessness, but the causes are complex. Housing costs, addiction, mental health struggles, decades of underinvestment in support services — they're all tangled together. Looking around, it felt less like a problem with a simple solution and more like the visible result of issues that have been building for generations.

It was a sobering contrast.

In a city famous for extraordinary wealth and innovation, there are also people with nowhere to go.

As visitors, all we could really do was observe it and reflect on it.

The View From the Corner Of The Hotel

By the time we reached the hotel at around quarter to eleven, we were completely exhausted. Not being used to staying out that late anymore certainly didn't help.

All that remained was to collapse onto the bed with a couple of beers, some snacks, and the local news on television.

I stayed awake a little longer than I should have, updating the blog while the details of the day were still fresh. I've learned from experience that once you fall behind, catching up becomes a challenge. Days blur together, memories merge, and before long you're relying on photographs to work out whether something happened yesterday or three days ago.

At least I'd finally sorted the cameras out.

For the first time all trip, every camera, phone and gadget was operating in the same time zone, which felt like a surprisingly significant achievement.

Eventually, though, even the blog had to wait.

The city hummed quietly outside, the day finally caught up with us, and we sank into that big, comfortable hotel bed ready to do it all again tomorrow.

Refections On The Day

Today felt like one of those rare days where everything seemed to fall into place. Even the things that didn't go according to plan somehow improved the experience. From Karl the Fog drifting lazily around the Golden Gate to an evening spent celebrating Star Wars Day at the Exploratorium, San Francisco seemed determined to show us every side of its personality.

What struck me most was the city's sense of contrast. The morning took us through the Presidio, where old military history, wildlife, and spectacular bay views sit side by side. A short while later we found ourselves standing among the rows of white headstones at the National Cemetery, a place that quietly reminds you of the human cost behind so much of the history we often take for granted. The coins left on the graves stayed with me long after we left.

Throughout the day there was a recurring theme of resilience. Whether it was learning how the city recovered from the devastation of the 1906 earthquake and fire, or seeing how former military land has been transformed into parks and public spaces, San Francisco constantly reinvents itself while somehow holding on to its past.

The evening could not have been more different. The Exploratorium was pure fun: adults acting like oversized children, science exhibits being enthusiastically misunderstood, and R2-D2 stealing the show. It was exactly the kind of slightly ridiculous experience that makes a holiday memorable.

The walk back along the Embarcadero was one of those simple moments that often become the most treasured. The bay was calm, the city lights reflected on the water, and for a while there was nowhere we needed to be and nothing we needed to do. Just enjoying the evening together was enough.

Of course, San Francisco never lets you forget its more complicated side. Walking back through Market Street afterwards was a reminder that alongside the wealth, beauty, and famous landmarks are real social problems that remain impossible to ignore. It didn't spoil the day, but it did add perspective.

By the time we reached the hotel we were exhausted, but it was the satisfying kind of tiredness that comes from a day well spent. Looking back, this wasn't really a day about ticking attractions off a list. It was about experiencing the city in all its different forms: playful, historic, beautiful, complicated, and endlessly fascinating.

Days like this are why we keep coming back.

⇧

Downtown walk

We decided to take things a little easier today. After sharing a sausage-and-egg bagel back at the hotel — washed down with a coffee strong enough to wake the dead — we started thinking about heading out. We'd each had a whole bagel the other day, which was delicious but left us both wanting nothing more than to crawl back into bed and sleep for a week. Sharing felt like the wiser, more adult choice. A rare moment of restraint.

A Wheelie Good Day

With breakfast sorted, it was time to tackle the day's main objective: Operation Wheelchair Resurrection.

We walked around the corner and caught the Number 8 bus down to Market Street, then made our way one block along 5th Street to Howard Street, where we picked up the Number 14 to Otis Street, about two miles away. It's not the easiest place to reach from where we were staying, as you can probably tell from that highly detailed bus description. Quite how I remember all that, I have no idea, but it was our best shot at getting the wheelchair fixed.

What I hadn't realised on our first visit was that the shop had a full workshop hidden away at the back. The owner very kindly called the mechanic through to take a look. He seemed quietly optimistic. Most of this sort of equipment is manufactured in China, so many of the parts are surprisingly interchangeable. The axle size turned out to be different, but he had a spare wheel complete with its own axle rod, and the bolt hole lined up closely enough to make it work. Fifteen minutes later, and for the grand sum of twenty-eight dollars, we were back on the road.

Who needs matching wheels?

It might not sound like much, but it made an enormous difference for Jane. A wheelchair on flat ground saves a huge amount of effort and makes getting around so much easier. It's difficult watching someone you love struggle when something as ordinary as a cracked pavement, a steep kerb, or a badly designed crossing suddenly becomes a major obstacle. Having the chair working properly again felt like a weight had been lifted from both of us.

With the repair sorted, it was finally time to enjoy the sunshine. First, however, we had to escape the shop's location, which sits beside what must be the biggest road junction I've ever seen. Five lanes on each side. Three separate pedestrian islands. And absolutely no chance of crossing in one go unless you're training for the Olympics.

Frogeer Crossing

I'm fairly certain the junction at Market and Van Ness wasn't designed by traffic engineers at all, but by someone who spent far too much time playing Frogger in the 1980s and eventually thought,

"You know what? Let's make this real." You don't simply cross the road here — you embark on a multi-stage expedition. By the time you reach the first pedestrian island, you feel like you've earned a checkpoint save and perhaps a small snack. Then the lights start flashing red again as if the city itself is saying, "No, no, you've had enough freedom for one day."

We Crossed Bottom Left

The islands aren't really refuges either. They're more like support groups where complete strangers gather to silently question their life choices while surrounded by buses, taxis, cyclists, and at least one person on an electric scooter travelling at roughly the speed of sound. Crossing the junction becomes less of a walk and more of a cooperative survival exercise. Still, once you finally reach the other side, there is a genuine sense of achievement. Not many cities can turn "walking to the pavement opposite" into an action-movie sequence.

Fortunately, we didn't have to wait long for the next bus. The Number 14 soon appeared, one of San Francisco's articulated trolleybuses. I don't know if it's just me, but the buses always seem packed these days, regardless of the time. You expect it on routes serving the major tourist attractions, but this is more of a worker-and-local-shoppers route, and it was already busy despite it only being mid-morning. These new Flyer buses are sixty feet long. The articulated section alone feels almost as long as some of the buses back home in the UK. Yet somehow they're still full. Either San Francisco has more people than I realised, or everyone in the city had independently decided to catch exactly the same bus as us.

Waterfall In The City

Quadcopter. I like Anything
 With A Camera

We hopped off the Number 14 bus outside Target, which felt a bit like the old Woolworths back home — one of those giant everything-under-one-roof shops where you can buy a frying pan, a birthday card, a pair of socks, and a 70-inch television without breaking stride. I always enjoy wandering around places like this, especially the electronics section, admiring the enormous TVs, computers, drones, and — my favourite of all — cameras.

By this point, it was definitely time for a coffee. There was a small café just inside the entrance, or maybe in the lobby area — the exact location escapes me now. While we were there, we noticed an IMAX cinema perched on top of the building, which seemed like a rather unusual architectural choice. We would have happily watched something, but nothing on the schedule really grabbed us.

Looking Yerba Buena Gardens

Just around the corner sits Yerba Buena Gardens, one of the most impressive green spaces in San Francisco.

What makes the gardens particularly remarkable is that they’re built on the roof of the Moscone North Convention Center — something you’d never guess while standing there. The space is divided into several distinct areas, each with its own character.

At the centre lies the Esplanade, a broad, beautifully maintained lawn perfect for picnics, sunbathing, or simply watching the world drift by. Colourful flower beds, public art installations, and quiet corners are scattered throughout, offering a peaceful escape from the city’s noise. Despite being surrounded by busy streets, the atmosphere feels calm, refined, and surprisingly serene.

The gardens are framed by some of San Francisco’s most important cultural institutions, including the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art and the Contemporary Jewish Museum, making the area a natural hub for the city’s arts scene.

The Amazing Fountain

One of the most striking features is the Martin Luther King Jr. Memorial and Fountain, officially titled Revelations. The centrepiece is a spectacular 50-foot-wide waterfall — a curtain of water so dramatic it pulls your attention instantly. One of its most unusual features is that you can walk behind it. Stepping into the shaded grotto, the city noise fades away, replaced by the constant roar of falling water. Etched onto glass panels behind the cascade are twelve quotations from Dr King’s speeches and writings, translated into multiple languages to reflect the diversity of San Francisco’s communities.

The combination of water, stone, and Dr King’s words creates something far more powerful than a simple monument. Inspired by his imagery of justice “rolling down like waters,” it becomes a place of reflection, remembrance, and quiet strength. Whether you’re a local worker escaping the office or a visitor exploring the city, it’s hard not to pause and take it in.

Above The Waterfall

We spent about an hour wandering the gardens before heading off to catch a bus to Washington Square. This route is always a bit of a nightmare because the buses run straight through Chinatown, and today was even worse. A police incident had taken place at a Subway sandwich shop up the road — a stabbing that escalated into a shooting — and the whole area was cordoned off. Because the trolley buses rely on overhead wires, they had no way to divert, so a long line of them sat stuck with nowhere to go.

It’s moments like this that remind you how quickly life can turn on a dime in big cities.

The News Chopper

When a bus finally arrived, I discovered that you can, in fact, fit far more people onto a bendy bus than physics would suggest. Even when the driver insisted it was full, people still tried to board, baffled as to why he wouldn’t let them wedge themselves into the remaining molecules of air.

Inside, it was absolute chaos. At one point, a Chinese woman in a wheelchair behind me was shouting for space — I think at me, though it was hard to tell in the crush and I don’t speak the langue but there was simply nowhere to go. When we eventually got off to let people out, the whole bus seemed to exhale like a living creature relieved to have a bit of breathing room again.

Chinatown is always lively, always loud, always intense — and today it was all of that multiplied by ten.

Go Ahead Punk, Make My Day

The Church From
The Movie

Getting off the bus at Washington Square was a welcome relief, even though we’d only been travelling for about fifteen minutes. The square is one of those places where people-watching isn’t just an option — it’s practically compulsory. There’s always a fascinating mix drifting through: locals walking their dogs, tourists clutching guidebooks, street characters with stories written on their faces, and people simply soaking up the California sunshine.

Dominating the northern end of the square is the magnificent Saints Peter and Paul Church, its twin spires gleaming against the blue sky. Often called the “Italian Cathedral of the West,” it’s one of the most recognisable landmarks in North Beach. On a bright day, with palm trees swaying gently and the church rising proudly behind the park, it’s easy to see why so many people are drawn here.

Ideal Place To watch The World Go By

Washington Square also has its place in movie history. Fans of Dirty Harry may recognise it from the film’s opening sequence, where the Scorpio Killer takes position on a rooftop overlooking the square. Standing there today, surrounded by families, joggers, and people enjoying lunch in the park, it’s hard to imagine the same peaceful spot once serving as the backdrop for such a tense, iconic scene.

What I love most about Washington Square is that it isn’t usually high on the standard tourist checklist — and that’s exactly its charm. People come here for the atmosphere rather than the attractions. The square sits at the heart of North Beach, San Francisco’s famous Little Italy, where the streets are lined with cafés, bakeries, bars, and restaurants. Of course, popularity comes at a price, and eating around here can make a noticeable dent in the holiday budget.

We spent a while sitting in the park, letting the sunshine do its thing and watching the world drift by, before heading across the road to Rogue Ales for a drink. This was exactly what I picture when I think of a traditional American bar. Unlike pubs back home — which often have a steady trickle of customers throughout the day — many bars in San Francisco seem surprisingly quiet in the afternoon. For visitors, that’s no bad thing, because happy hour often stretches generously into the day.

Lovely Booze

Inside, the bar had bare wooden floors and a wonderfully unpolished feel. Back home we’d probably call it a spit-and-sawdust pub — completely unpretentious and very much our kind of place. Behind the bar was an intimidating selection of beers from every corner of the city, the state, and the world. I wouldn’t describe myself as a beer connoisseur — or a connoisseur of much at all — and although the bartender did his best to explain the various styles and flavours, I lost track after about thirty seconds. In the end, I chose one simply because I liked the name and felt reasonably confident I’d still be able to walk after a couple of pints.

I’d actually planned to visit Rogue on our previous trip but never got around to it, despite walking past it several times. Looking at the endless rows of taps and bottles, it felt as though they stocked every beer on the planet, so it was definitely worth the wait. Being early afternoon, there were only a handful of customers inside — fairly typical for San Francisco. Unlike many pubs back home, especially outside city centres, a lot of bars here don’t even open until five o’clock. It makes for a very different pub culture, but it also means that when you do find yourself in one during the afternoon, it feels like you’ve stumbled into a quiet refuge hidden from the busy streets outside.

Secret City Views

After spending an hour or so in the bar, we hopped on the Number 39 from right outside for the short but very steep four-stop ride up to the top of Calhoun Terrace — one of San Francisco’s most exclusive and breathtaking little vantage points. It’s tucked away on the eastern slope of Telegraph Hill, the sort of place you’d never stumble across unless you were lost, nosy, or had spent far too long on Google Street View. In our case, it was the latter.

Downtown & The Bay Bridge

Calhoun Terrace gives you an intimate, layered view of the city’s relationship with the bay. You’re perched high above the waterfront, looking straight out over the Embarcadero. Directly below, the Cruise Terminal at Pier 27 sits like a toy model, with people and vehicles moving around it in miniature. Off to the right, the Bay Bridge stretches across the water toward Yerba Buena and Treasure Island, its western span gleaming in the afternoon light. On a clear day like today, you can see Oakland and Berkeley across the bay, framed by the soft hills of the East Bay.

Out on the water, ferries and cargo ships glide back and forth, giving you a real sense of the bay’s scale — a working harbour, a commuter route, and a postcard all at once.

Look slightly south and the whole mood shifts. The glass skyscrapers of the Financial District rise sharply from the flat waterfront like a futuristic city that sprouted overnight. It’s a striking contrast: old piers, busy roads, and then suddenly a wall of shimmering towers.

Unlike the 360-degree tourist frenzy at Coit Tower just up the hill, Calhoun Terrace is quiet and residential. The street is lined with beautiful Modernist buildings — white, ship-like apartments from the 1930s and 40s that look as though they’re about to set sail. Because it’s a dead-end street with almost no traffic, the only sounds was the distant squawking of the famous wild parrots of Telegraph Hill. They flit between the trees like feathery troublemakers, occasionally stopping to perform acts of botanical vandalism on people’s plants. I get the impression the locals are not their biggest fans.

The Ferry Building

I found the spot on Street View years ago and made a mental note to visit — and it was absolutely worth the steep final climb. You even get the added entertainment of watching the bus reverse back down the hill to turn around, which looks like a manoeuvre that should require a safety harness and a prayer.

We spent about forty minutes up there. With the bus running every twenty minutes, there was plenty of time to take photos and simply stand together, soaking up the view over the bay. It’s the end of the route, so it’s always a bit of a guessing game where the bus will actually stop — the loop around Coit Tower, the dead-end street, the T-junction turn — but that’s all part of the charm. A strange little route to a strange little street with one of the best views in the city.

Pyramid In The Park

Transamerica Pyramid

Back down in Washington Square, we caught the Number 30 for a couple of stops before changing to the Number 12, which dropped us behind the Transamerica Pyramid. This is one of those rare places in a big city where you can sit, do absolutely nothing, and feel like you're doing it in exactly the right spot.

Completed in 1972 and designed by architect William Pereira, the Transamerica Pyramid wasn't exactly welcomed with open arms when it first appeared on the skyline. Many thought a futuristic white pyramid had no business rising above a city better known for Victorian houses and sensible square buildings. Yet over time it became one of San Francisco's defining landmarks. At 853 feet tall, it was the city's tallest building until the Salesforce Tower overtook it in 2018, a year after our visit. Even so, for many people it remains the San Francisco skyscraper.

Its distinctive shape wasn't chosen simply to look different. The tapered design allows more natural light to reach the streets below than a conventional tower would, while the two wings near the top serve practical purposes: one contains a lift shaft and the other houses a staircase and smoke tower. The exterior is clad in crushed quartz, which gives the building its bright white appearance and makes it almost glow on a sunny day. Impressive though the tower is, that wasn't really why we'd come here.

The Frog Pond

Nestled at its base is a small half-acre park that feels as though it belongs in an entirely different city. Opened shortly after the building was completed, it's one of those hidden places that many visitors walk straight past without ever realising it's there. Around fifty Coast Redwoods were transplanted here from the Santa Cruz Mountains in the early 1970s. They're nowhere near the size of the giants found in Muir Woods, but they've spent the last few decades quietly growing into a dense canopy that softens the sounds of the city. Traffic noise fades into the background and the Financial District suddenly feels a very long way away.

Frogs Of Redwood Park

A small pond and fountain sit at the centre, surrounded by ferns and other woodland plants. Bronze frogs perch on the rocks around the water, adding a touch of whimsy that somehow fits perfectly. They're slightly odd, completely charming, and impossible not to photograph.

What I love about this place is the contrast.

Above you stands one of the most recognisable skyscrapers in America, all sharp angles, white concrete and corporate ambition. Yet down at ground level you're sitting beneath redwood trees listening to running water and birdsong. It shouldn't work. But somehow it does.

And the best part? You're never more than a few steps from a coffee shop. A perfect combination: caffeine and calm.

San Francisco has a surprising number of these privately owned public spaces — small parks maintained by building owners but open to everyone. This is easily one of the best. Whether you're eating lunch, escaping the crowds for a while, or simply watching the world go by, it's the sort of place that reminds you that some of the most memorable corners of a city aren't always the ones listed first in the guidebooks.

We’re Walking In The Air

The Embarcadero Center is essentially a city within a city — a four-block concrete kingdom planted right in the middle of San Francisco's Financial District. It's famous, depending on your point of view, for its Brutalist architecture. Which is a polite way of saying there's an awful lot of concrete. Imagine someone designing a futuristic city and then discovering, halfway through the project, that plants existed.

The complex consists of four towers — creatively named One, Two, Three and Four Embarcadero Center — rising above a sprawling network of shops, cafés, courtyards and elevated walkways. It's the sort of place where you arrive intending to cross from A to B and somehow end up at Q wondering how it happened.

The Elevated Walkway

The real attraction, though, is the network of pedestrian bridges linking everything together. Rather than dodging traffic at street level, you can wander along elevated walkways suspended between the buildings. It feels a little like walking through a science-fiction film set — if the set designer had a deep and abiding affection for concrete.

The views are surprisingly good too. Every so often the walkways open up to reveal framed views of the surrounding skyscrapers, the Ferry Building and the waterfront beyond. Below, traffic crawls through the streets while above you office towers disappear into the sky.

Accessibility-wise, it's... let's call it a work in progress. Some sections have ramps and gentle slopes, while others suddenly present a small flight of steps as though the architect momentarily forgot wheelchairs existed. To be fair I think most of the ramps where added where they could in later years During the day this isn't usually a problem because you can often duck into one of the buildings and use a lift. After office hours, however, the whole place becomes much more interesting.

And by interesting, I mean confusing. Once the workers go home and the shops begin to close, the Financial District empties out surprisingly quickly. The walkways become quiet, the courtyards fall silent, and the whole complex takes on an almost surreal atmosphere. Instead of feeling like a shopping centre, it starts to resemble the abandoned set of a futuristic film. Not that I'm complaining. Some of my favourite photographs in San Francisco have come from places exactly like this. The paths are lined with planters overflowing with ivy and seasonal flowers, nature doing its best to soften the relentless grey concrete. Every now and then you stumble across a hidden seating area, a tucked-away courtyard, or a dramatic spiral staircase that looks incredibly useful right up until the moment you discover it doesn't actually take you anywhere you need to go.

One of the highlights is the Embarcadero Three courtyard, home to Skygate, a huge stainless-steel sculpture that appears to have been designed by someone asking the question, "How large can we make this before people become nervous standing underneath it?" The bridges don't just connect the four towers either. They stretch towards the Hyatt Regency and Justin Herman Plaza, creating a secret upper-level city where it's possible to walk from the Financial District towards the waterfront while barely encountering a traffic light.

It's one of those places that rewards wandering without a plan. In the evening, the atmosphere changes again. The crowds thin out, the lighting becomes softer, and the whole complex feels calm and strangely peaceful. During the Christmas season, thousands of white lights outline the towers, transforming what is essentially a giant concrete office development into something surprisingly magical. Proof, perhaps, that with enough imagination — and enough electricity — even a concrete jungle can learn a few new tricks.

Movie History, Beer & Burgers

Just around the corner from the end of the pedway sits the Hyatt Regency, and if you can afford it, this is one hotel I'd happily recommend. This place has to be seen to be believed.

We'd heard it was impressive, but nothing quite prepares you for walking through the doors and suddenly feeling very, very small. The lobby is absolutely enormous — a cavernous, cathedral-like atrium stretching seventeen storeys into the air, with the balconies of every guest room lining the edges and looking down into the space below. It's the kind of place where you walk in, stop dead, and immediately look upwards. Which is exactly what we did.

Its Big

The Hyatt actually holds the Guinness World Record for the world's largest hotel lobby atrium, and the moment you're standing inside, that fact becomes entirely believable. The walls slope upwards and inwards as they rise, giving the whole building a distinctly futuristic feel — part luxury hotel, part science-fiction film set. Dominating the floor is Eclipse, a three-storey geodesic sphere sculpture made from gold-anodised aluminium tubes. It sits in the centre of the atrium looking as though somebody borrowed a prop from a Stanley Kubrick film and forgot to return it.

The Famous Lifts

Then there are the lifts. Glass-walled cylindrical pods that glide up and down the inside of the atrium, carrying guests seventeen floors above the lobby floor. From the ground, they look spectacular. From inside them, I suspect they look terrifying. We chose to admire them from a safe distance while other, braver souls rode up and down the building. From our position on the ground floor, surrounded by bars, cafés, indoor trees and gently trickling water features, it felt like the more sensible option.

What makes the building even more interesting is its connection to Hollywood. The atrium was used as a filming location for the 1974 disaster classic The Towering Inferno, standing in for the lobby of the fictional Glass Tower. Those famous glass lifts featured prominently in some of the film's most memorable scenes, and standing there looking up at them, it's easy to see why the filmmakers chose this location. Remarkably, the space still looks much as it did on screen more than forty years later.

Honestly, even if you're not staying here, it's worth walking through the doors just to experience it for yourself. Go in. Look up. Trust me.

Din Dins In The District

By now we were starting to wilt, so with the clock creeping toward 5 p.m. we decided to catch the bus for the short ride back toward the hotel. The plan was to stop off at Murphy’s Pub for a drink — but that idea lasted all of three seconds. The place was absolutely packed, nowhere to sit, and the noise hit us like a wall. It calls itself an Irish bar and proudly advertises traditional fish and chips, but on a previous visit Jane declared the fish and chips “rubbish,” which is about as damning as a review gets.

There are plenty of seats inside, but most of them are the tall bar-stool type, and Jane struggles with those. The few low tables are squeezed together so tightly you practically need a crowbar to get in and out. After the peace and quiet of the park earlier, the whole atmosphere felt jarring. So we gave it a miss.

But eat we must — so we crossed the road to Super Duper Burger. Their burgers are juicy, reliably good, and while not exactly cheap, you get what you pay for. We sat inside and demolished them with the enthusiasm of people who had absolutely earned their dinner. They even give you one of those little vibrating discs that buzz when your order is ready — the sort of thing that makes the place look a bit shabby from the outside, but I’ve learned not to judge restaurants by appearances. Plenty of places will charge you a fortune and still half-kill you with bad food.

This is the heart of the Financial District, so there’s no shortage of places to eat. I’m always suspicious of restaurants that are empty at six in the evening, or anywhere with napkins folded into birds and tucked into wine glasses with no price list outside. We’re more table and chairs bolted to the floor type diners.

With dinner dealt with, all that remained was the essential evening supply run. A quick stop at the shop near the burger restaurant provided beer, snacks and other necessities before we began the slow ten-minute walk back to the hotel.

By this point the day was definitely starting to catch up with us. No matter how much fun you're having, being on the go from morning until evening eventually takes its toll. Back at the hotel, with the wheelchair repaired, a decent meal inside us, and another successful day added to the trip, it felt good to finally put our feet up and do absolutely nothing for a while. Sometimes that's exactly what a holiday needs.

Refections On The Day

Today proved that there is no such thing as a quiet day in San Francisco.

What was supposed to be an easier day quickly turned into another adventure, but the real success wasn't any of the places we visited. It was getting the wheelchair repaired. Seeing Jane able to move around comfortably again lifted a huge weight from both of us and reminded me how much travel often depends on solving small practical problems rather than ticking famous landmarks off a list.

The city seemed determined to show us all its different sides today. There was the chaos of Market and Van Ness, the crowds and noise of Chinatown, and the packed buses that somehow never seem to have an empty seat. Yet there were also moments of unexpected calm: sitting among the redwoods in Yerba Buena Gardens, discovering hidden viewpoints above the bay, and finding quiet corners tucked away between the skyscrapers.

Perhaps that's what I enjoy most about San Francisco. Just when it starts to feel overwhelming, it offers a place to stop, catch your breath, and take it all in.

By the end of the day we were tired, carrying beer and snacks back to the hotel, but it was the satisfying sort of tiredness that comes from a day well spent. The wheelchair was working again, we'd discovered a few new places, and the city had once again managed to surprise us.

Not bad for a day that was supposed to be an easy one.

⇧