San Francisco

For the first time in a long while, I came to San Francisco on a private trip. In the morning, I had some tough negotiations with people visiting from San Francisco, then jumped on the NEX in the early afternoon and flew on NW028. Since it happened to be St. Patrick’s Day, after buying souvenirs for Owen and Michael at Narita Airport (2 bottles of ginjo sake), I had a Guinness. So far, so good.

The problem came afterward.

It had been a long time since I had flown economy on a long-haul flight, and doing so again reminded me that it is an animal kingdom. The cabin was full of people with children. On JAL or a similar airline, they would probably be Japanese children and reasonably well disciplined. But the child of an elderly white man and a Filipino girl who looked as if she might be in her 10s—well, what can I say? Before the plane even began moving, the child screamed and cried, then vomited so much that it ran as far as the row behind them. The smell was awful. Ugh, I could not take it, especially since I am unusually sensitive and vulnerable to smells.

There was nothing to do but sleep, so I slept almost continuously through the 9-hour flight.

When we arrived, I ran to immigration and entered the country smoothly.

For once, my Hertz rental car had not been upgraded: it was a Ford Taurus ($299/week plus options). I drove straight to Fisherman’s Wharf and watched the sea lions and the bungee trampoline at Pier 39. Afterward, I ate at Fisherman’s Grotto #9 at Pier 9.

In the afternoon, I moved to the Palace Hotel. The Palace Hotel is strangely inexpensive on weekends. I left the car with the valet, checked in, and headed to Union Square. I had planned to retrieve something I had left at the Westin St. Francis on my previous visit (2/12), but it was so crowded that I gave up.

As I began strolling back toward the Palace Hotel, the streets already had a dubious atmosphere thanks to the St. Patrick’s Day revelers. I tried to buy dinner at a Del Taco near the hotel, but even inside the restaurant, a panhandler behind me started demanding money. I hurried out and went in front of McDonald’s, but the atmosphere there was just as dubious. In the end, I bought a hot dog at 7/11, topped it with chili and salsa, and ate it in my room. It was surprisingly good. But I also broke out in hives. I will have to buy an antihistamine tomorrow. (Separately, I bought Zilactin for a mouth ulcer. Apparently I had been running a fever all week, which seems to explain why I was so utterly exhausted.)

The Palace Hotel has a spa, pool, and sauna on the 4th floor. When I went there, though, there was no changing room. A woman was changing inside the coed sauna—surely that cannot be right…

The sounds of St. Patrick’s Day revelry continued until midnight. I have not heard music from outside this late at night since Montreal (’93).