San Francisco offered more than anticipated; the more one wandered
about, the more was discovered. Ernest remained horizontal while I
ate steamed buns in Chinatown, drank coffee in Little Italy, and
shopped for bracelets at The Haight’s hippie district, still revealing a
surprisingly ’60s vibe. Luckily, I was on foot ascending Russian Hill
and descending it via the switchbacks, eight sharp bends at a forty-
degree slope.
A significant part of the city was destroyed in the 1906 earthquake
and fire. Still, stunning Victorian architecture remained, including the
famous painted ladies - a row of Victorian houses with the San
Francisco skyline as a backdrop.
I made good use of the city's various transport modes, from the
iconic cable, in service since 1873, to the reasonably priced
streetcars.
Despite the fog rolling in, I trundled about the waterfront, which
offered a perfect view of the infamous Alcatraz Prison. From the
mid-1930s until the mid-1960s, Alcatraz was America’s premier,
maximum-security prison. I find it thought-provoking that Native
Americans historically kept far away from the island, calling it Evil
Island and believing it cursed. I’m sure that many inmates would
agree.