A Welcome Return
San Francisco, CA
May 31, 2011
From the time they were born, I have wanted to bring my boys to no place more than I have wanted to bring them here.
I did so several years ago to surprise their mother when she finished a half marathon. But, much as she was surprised, and while she and I made some memories, neither of our sons did. This week, we plan to rectify that.
Few cities make it easier to fill four days with two kids. We arrived yesterday afternoon from Los Angeles, with a weekend in Beverly Hills as our formidable benchmark. But I am confident my adopted home town is up to the challenge.
The Kensington Park is not the Beverly Hills Hotel. But, a half block west of Union Square, its location is ideal and its ambience charming. It carries the art deco air of old San Francisco, with the confined quarters of the new.
Our room is eleven flights up, allowing us to periodically leave the boys for quick jaunts around the square…or an after-dinner drink in a nearby bar. But our first drinks were at an old haunt, after taking a cab from the airport and dropping our luggage in our room.
Café de la Presse, in the little French quarter just outside the Chinatown Gate, has expanded since Rita and I frequented it years ago. From our flat on Telegraph Hill, we’d often enjoy the nice mile walk thru North Beach and Chinatown, to one of its outdoor tables just off Union Square.
From a intimate corner boîte with sidewalk seating, strong coffee, abundant wine, and a menagerie of international journals, Café de la Presse has grown into an extensive corner brasserie with sidewalk seating, strong coffee, abundant wine, and a menagerie of international journals. If Balzac, Hugo, or Camus hung out in San Francisco, they would’ve done so here.
The area is also known for high-end fashion and apparel. If I had wanted to bring the first sentence of the previous paragraph in for a fitting, several luxury retailers could’ve shortened it by Friday. For a reduced price, I would’ve taken it to Chinatown, where we went next.
From the café, we walked across Bush Street, thru the Gate, and up Grant. The boys were dazzled by the Chinese characters (symbols and human), abundant trinkets, and ubiquitous souvenir shops that lined both sides of the narrow street. We strolled three blocks, to the steps of Old St Mary’s Cathedral at the corner of California Street.
Served since 1901 by the Paulists, this is the oldest Catholic church in California to have been built as a cathedral. The 1906 fires destroyed the interior bells and main altar, but the Gothic-revival exterior walls and tower are among the few structures east of Van Ness to survive the great quake.
As Rita perused the church store and some shops on Grant, the boys and I ran along California Street, up Nob Hill, and into the Ritz Carlton. This monumental neo-classical edifice rose in 1909, occupies the entire block, and is magnificent. We considered a couple Cokes and a glass of wine at the elegant Parallel 37 lounge, but decided instead to return to Rita.
The best parts of Chinatown are found in the side streets and alleys away from Grant Avenue. We ducked into several, then made our way down Stockton, past the produce stands and hanging carcasses that entice the Cantonese residents of this cramped district.
At Broadway the scene shifts. Seedy bars, adult bookstores, and girly shows lend a Barbary Coast aura to the blocks east of Columbus. To the northwest, we continued thru North Beach, amid a procession of Neopolitan restaurants, into Mario’s Cigar Café, past our old dwelling at the base of Coit Tower, and into our old parish Church of SS Peter and Paul, facing Washington Square.
After being married at City Hall, Joe DiMaggio and Marilyn Monroe used the Romanesque revival façade as backdrop for paparazzi to capture their wedding photos. Inside, a small chapel features a statue of St Rita before the Crucifix. Upon her Confirmation to the Catholic Church, my wife adopted the humble nun of Cascia as her patron saint. When we lived on Telegraph Hill, this small shrine was a comforting portal to weekly prayer.
From the church, we walked another fifteen minutes, up Mason, across Bay, and to the weighed-down wharfs beside Pier 39. Alexander and David, like most tourists leaning over the rails, adored the barking sea lions piled across the docks.
Seal Rocks, just off Land’s End in the Richmond District, hosted most of these creatures till they started migrating into the bay a couple decades ago. We once lived a few blocks from those aquatic outcroppings, and will no doubt take the boys past our former home, and that of the seals, later this week.
As the fog rolled in, our adrenaline wore off. Fatigued from a short morning flight and long afternoon walks, we introduced our sons to the cable car, which brought us over Nob Hill, and to the hotel.
JD
